


A Kiss of Death

by almostannette



Series: Annette's Gradence AU fics [7]
Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Credence is the equivalent of a Bondgirl, Graves is an MI6 agent, Grindelwald is a Bond villain of course, M/M, Spies, secret agents, trans!seraphina picquery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-04
Updated: 2018-05-10
Packaged: 2019-02-28 08:43:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 36,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13267824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/almostannette/pseuds/almostannette
Summary: James Bond!AUPercival Graves, 007, is tasked with investigating the death of a fellow MI6 agent. All the clues lead him to Berlin and to a mysterious dark-haired young man only known as "Obscurus". What started as a routine mission quickly becomes a trip into the past and horrifying secrets are finally coming to light...





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [writingramblr](https://archiveofourown.org/users/writingramblr/gifts).



> I've been meaning to write this fic forever and finally found the courage to post the first two chapters! This is loosely going to follow the plot of Skyfall, with hopefully a couple of surprises and twists along the way!
> 
> Inspired by an ask on writingramblr's blog ages ago and [this fanvideo](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Umm4PFX0z98&t=68s).
> 
> Thanks to [binary-suunset](https://binary-suunset.tumblr.com/) for beta-reading this chapter!
> 
>  **Warning:** This chapter contains references to unhealthy power dynamics, abuse, non-con, underage, murder and suicide.

Somewhere in Berlin, a tall man in his early forties, with dirty blond hair and blue eyes, sat in an armchair and listened to the woman in front of him tell him about the outcome of her latest mission. Leta Lestrange, he recalled. The youngest offspring of a family that was not necessarily known for their love of adhering to the law.

The slightest hint of a smile lingered on Gellert Grindelwald’s features. He was impatiently tapping his fingers on the armrest of the chair.

“So you did not manage to retrieve the hard disk, like I asked you to do?” he interrupted Lestrange’s tirade.

She fell silent, almost like a schoolgirl that had been caught breaking the rules. “No,” she admitted. “I managed to incapacitate the MI6 agent, but in doing so, the ginger-haired bastard fell off the bridge and into the river below.”

Gellert inhaled sharply, the only indication of his inner turmoil. “The agent had red hair, you said?” he asked, ostensibly calm.

“Yes,” she said. “It was Theseus Scamander, I went to school with his brother. Why is that important?”

Gellert slowly exhaled and bared his teeth. “It’s not important at all,” he said. “I expect you to do better next time.”

“I will,” Lestrange replied too quickly. As she thought herself to be out of danger, her eyes were no longer focused on Gellert, but on the young man kneeling beside Gellert’s chair, his head bowed and his eyes fixed on the ground.

“I see you have noticed my pet, Miss Lestrange,” he said and lightly rested his left hand on the boy’s dark curls for a moment, before he tightened his grip. The boy did not give him any indication of discomfort, although Gellert knew he had to be in pain at that point. “I trained him well,” he added and met Lestrange’s eyes again. “I’m quite proud of that.”

“Congratulations,” she said, eyes still fixed on the boy.

Gellert suppressed a smirk and released his grip on the boy’s hair. “Credence, _Liebling_ , show Madam Lestrange some respect.”

The boy did not move for a moment. “Sir?” he asked reluctantly.

“Like I taught you when you first came to live with me,” Gellert clarified.

If Credence was surprised, he did not show it. “Yes, sir,” he said quietly and crawled over to Lestrange, until he was kneeling at her feet. “Mistress,” he whispered and bent down to kiss the toes of her shoes. Lestrange seemed fascinated by that display.

Gellert chuckled quietly. “That’s enough for now, pet. Come back here,” he drawled. The boy made his way back to Gellert’s side; a picture of perfect obedience. “Didn’t I say he was well trained?”

“I can certainly see that,” Lestrange answered. “He seems...lovely.”

“He is,” Gellert assented. “Even though he is getting on in years. How old are you now, pet?”

“Twenty-two, sir,” Credence replied.

“And when did we begin our little arrangement?” Gellert prompted.

“Six years ago, sir.”

Lestrange’s eyes widened and she visibly swallowed.

“Thank you, _Liebling_. That’s all for now,” Gellert said and petted Credence’s hair. “You may already start to get yourself ready for me. I won’t be long.”

“Yes, sir,” Credence said, stood up and disappeared up the stairs, into the direction of Gellert’s bedroom.

“Isn’t he sweet?” Gellert asked and grinned at Leta Lestrange.

Her eyes flickered to the spot where Credence had been sitting. “Did it take long to train him?”

“Not at all,” he replied. “Love is a very powerful motivator, Leta.”

Lestrange blinked. “You think he loves you?” she blurted out.

Gellert fixed her with a glare.

“Uh...I didn’t mean to suggest he didn’t…,” she tried to backtrack and floundered helplessly.

He laughed. “No, I don’t think he loves me. On the contrary, I’m quite certain he hates me.”

Lestrange looked as though he had not been speaking English with her. “I’m afraid I don’t quite understand,” she said slowly.

“You see, I have certain people in my pocket,” Gellert explained. “More precisely, people, who dear, young Credence wants to protect at all costs. He knows that the only way to ensure their well-being is his complete obedience to me at all times.”

He leaned back in his chair and observed how her brain worked. She gave him a wary look. “That really works?”

“Of course it does,” he said.

She shrugged. “Wouldn’t you have gotten the same result if you’d just threatened to beat him up?”

Gellert crossed his ankles. “My dear Leta, I invite you to imagine a little scenario with me. Let’s suppose I would have chosen to use outright force on Credence to discipline him. Now, if he were to disobey me, what would be the consequences?”

“He’d get a beating?” Lestrange suggested.

“Certainly, but in a broader sense, you could say that if he failed to follow the rules, the consequences would be direct physical damage to himself. Do you agree with me there?”

She said she did and Gellert reached over to pour himself a glass of whisky. He offered one to Lestrange, but she declined. He took a sip and licked his lips, savoring the burn, before he continued: “I need to let you in on a couple more details concerning the circumstances under which I acquired Credence. You see, he and his younger sisters were living in a highly abusive household. Their adoptive mother beat all of her children. As the eldest sibling, Credence was punished the most, not least of all because he took punishments for his sisters. Do you see what I’m getting at?”

Lestrange bit her lip and furrowed her brow, but apparently she could not think of anything clever to say. She shook her head and admitted that she didn’t know what Gellert wanted to say.

“Alright,” he sighed and spared a glance to the staircase. His pet would be getting anxious by now, wondering why Gellert was taking so long to join him in the bedroom. Well, it could not be helped. He had a lesson to teach.

“You will not be surprised to hear that it was quite easy to win Credence over and convince him I only had his and his sisters’ best interest in mind. He was still very naive back then, and eager to believe all the pretty lies I told him.” Gellert chuckled quietly. “That didn’t last too long,” he freely admitted. “I’d say he’s become rather disillusioned and world-weary. But I am getting ahead of myself. Now, Leta, can you figure out what system I’m using to keep Credence in line?”

She narrowed her eyes. “You said you have people in your pocket that he wants to protect,” she began slowly. “You meant his sisters, didn’t you?”

Gellert smiled and nodded, indicating for her to continue.

“If he disobeys you, he himself would not get hurt directly, but you’d hurt his sisters, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes,” he confirmed, and wanted to continue speaking, but Lestrange’s eyes suddenly lit up and she sucked in an excited breath.

“I get it now,” she said. “Earlier, you said love is a powerful motivator. It’s probably what kept him going for all those years, the love for his siblings. In fact, it was probably his strongest suit.” Lestrange nodded to herself and blinked a couple of times, before she took up the thread again. “You managed to turn his strength into a weakness. That’s it, isn’t it? The love he feels for his sisters is enough to bind him to you and ensure he’s obedient.”

“Exactly,” Gellert said and gave her another encouraging smile. “You did a good job in figuring it out. And can you imagine why I chose that particular strategy to train Credence? Why I did not just use violence against him until he fell in line?”

Lestrange licked her lips and closed her eyes in contemplation. A wrinkle appeared between her eyebrows. “It would get boring, wouldn’t it?” she said after a long moment and opened her eyes again. “I mean, you could hurt him all you want, eventually he would just become desensitized or he would not be quite as obedient, since he might think he’ll just take the beating instead of...well, whatever it is that you want him to do.” She smiled to herself, a guileful, vicious thing. “However, since he knows that it’s not him who’ll get hurt for his transgressions, but his sisters, he is going to be much more careful to follow the rules. That’s probably part of the fun, I think. How do you control him in particular?”

Gellert stared into his glass and swirled the amber liquid around. He crossed his legs the other way. His knee felt painfully stiff.

“Credence’s sisters are well cared for. They are living in a foster family and the parents indulge the girls’ every whim,” he explained. “If Credence does especially well, he is allowed to visit his sisters for a day. Naturally, they will tell him that they just love their life, which, in turn, strengthens Credence’s resolve to do everything that I want him to do.” He drained his glass and set it aside. “I’m quite pleased with your analysis of the situation,” he said and observed how Lestrange preened under the praise. “Let me elaborate a little, because there is a reason I am telling you all those details about my relationship with Credence. You said yourself that it would get boring to use outright violence. If I want to indulge my soft spot for torture, I’ll have one of my employees pick up a hooker from the street, who will not be missed and can be easily discarded once I’m finished with them. Credence, on the other hand...it would be quite foolish to waste him like that.”

He adjusted his legs once more and bent down to massage his knee for a few moments. He straightened back up. “I’ve been kneecapped in my youth,” he said, doing his best to appear bashful. “I hope my ex is proud he managed to leave a permanent reminder. But where was I?”

“Credence, and why it would be wrong to waste him for a torture session,” Lestrange promptly said.

“Yes, thank you,” Gellert proceeded. “Of course, Credence is an open book. Since I know him so well, it is quite impossible for him to hide his emotions from me. I primarily keep Credence around for entertainment. I can observe the war that is going on inside him at all times, the war between the love he feels for his sisters, and the hatred he feels for me. So far, the love for his siblings has always won, but I know that, eventually, he will slip up. From personal experience, I know that feeling like you are responsible for the death of a loved one can destroy a person.”

Leta smirked. “He’s enslaving himself,” she said. “He’s condemning himself to a life of perpetual self-sacrifice and selflessness...but he’s been doing it for how long, six years already? Do you really think he’s going to slip up?”

“I believe he’s finally nearing his breaking point,” Gellert nodded. “It’s just a matter of time, now, and I can be a patient man if I want to.”

“And if he slips up you’re going to do away with his sisters for good?”

He inclined his head and hummed in agreement. “I’m thinking of giving them to Travers or Rosier, perhaps the both of them. They have a certain proclivity for young girls and would surely do an adequate job, I may say.”

“It’s going to destroy him,” Lestrange said quietly.

“Undoubtedly, and I am very much looking forward to that,” Gellert said. “But, like I already mentioned, I had a reason for telling you this story that goes beyond simple small talk and it has to do with your most recent mission. I’ve explained my reasons for using Credence’s own emotions to manipulate him to do my bidding, as opposed to using plain violence on him, since the result I get is, for me, a much more entertaining and interesting one. I’ve seen people cower in front of me, pleading for their pitiful lives, and it gets old quickly...but I digress.”

“I don’t mind,” she threw in. “I think it’s very interesting.”

“To finally get to the point,” he said, “I told you all this, so I could make an analogy, to make you understand what went wrong in your last mission and how you can do better in the future.”

She nodded, eyes fixed on him. Once more, he was reminded of an overzealous school girl, although most British schoolgirls probably did not have Leta Lestrange’s sadistic streak and her penchant for lethal weapons.

“Believe me, I fully understand that murder is tempting,” he said. That elicited a rueful smile from her. “However, it was wrong to kill the agent at that point. You know why, don’t you?”

“He still had the hard disk I was supposed to steal,” she said and wrung her hands in front of her. “I should have taken that from him before I threw him off the bridge, or killed him in a way that would have given me the opportunity to search his body.”

“Precisely,” Gellert said. “Now, you managed to take out an MI6 agent, a 00 to boot, which is quite an achievement on its own, and highlights how much potential you’ve got, but ultimately, it wasn’t what I wanted you to do. So, next time, don’t lose sight of the main goal of the mission. The agents themselves aren’t that important, MI6 has got dozens of young agents champing at the bits to get 00 status.  You need to learn how to be patient,” he explained. “Just like I need to be patient with Credence. I could have his sisters killed any time, I could even do it myself and force him to watch, but I need to be patient and wait until he slips up. If I killed them just like that, he would just have one more reason to hate me. But if they are killed because he made a mistake…”

“He’ll feel as though he killed them personally,” Lestrange finished. “I bet he’s highly empathic and that’s going to send him on a guilt trip from which he’ll never recover.”

“Personally, I like to use the word em- _pathetic_ ,” Gellert said and winked at her. It elicited a laugh from Lestrange.

“Do you think he’s going to kill himself when his sisters are dead?”

Gellert hummed. “I’m sure of it,” he said. “I have absolutely no doubt that he’s seriously considering suicide, but so far he didn’t even attempt it. He knows that the only thing that’s keeping his sisters alive is the fact that he’s my plaything. Perhaps I should let him see them again…,” he trailed off and paused for a moment. “Leta, my dear, since you seem interested in the situation, would you want to participate in that meeting?”

Her eyes lit up and she leaned forward in anticipation. “Yes,” she said, almost too quickly. “What would I have to do?”

“Ambitious and hardworking,” he commented. “We need more women like you. Women who show a willingness to resist all those constricting social norms, just like you do.”

Once again, she preened under his praise.

“All you would have to do,” he continued, “is provide security during the meeting. You are a very skilled sharpshooter, aren’t you? During the following days, I want you to demonstrate your abilities so Credence may see for himself that you are a dangerous sniper. I will provide the opportunity for that, of course. When he’s allowed to meet with his sisters, I want you to lie in ambush and observe the exchange between him, his sisters and the foster parents. In turn, I will tell him that, if he makes one false move, you’re going to take them out one by one.”

“Am I actually supposed to shoot?” she asked.

“No,” he admitted. “But I don’t want him to feel safe, so he should know you’re there. Just in case he should really misbehave himself, take out the younger sister, the blond one. Credence loves her the most.”

“Understood,” she said.

“Now,” he replied and stood up, reaching for his walking cane, “I’m going to have to bid you goodnight and ask you to leave. I am sure Credence is already asking himself what we were doing for so long. I will contact you within the next few days, so don’t stray too far.”

“I won’t,” she said. “Thank you, Mr. Grindelwald.”

Gellert waited until she had left and then he made his way through the mansion, to his bedroom, where he knew Credence would be waiting for him. His knee was hurting more than usual and perhaps Credence would be able to distract him from the pain. The boy would probably really put his back into it if Gellert added the incentive of being allowed to visit his sister.

He opened the bedroom door, and, just as expected, found Credence, naked, sitting on the bed.

“Have you been waiting for me, _Liebling_?” Gellert asked in German.

Credence nodded without lifting his head. “Yes, Sir.”

Gellert tsked.

Credence flinched. “ _Ja, mein Herr_ ,” he corrected himself. Usually, Gellert used his mother tongue when speaking with the boy, he’d only spoken English because Leta Lestrange did not understand German. However, in private, Gellert saw no reason why he should accommodate Credence by speaking English. The boy had had ample opportunity to learn German over the past few years.

“Good,” Gellert said. “Look at me, Credence.”

The boy complied and his brown eyes met Gellert’s blue ones. “ _Herr_?” he asked with a shaky voice.

“If you do well today, you will be allowed to see your sisters,” he revealed.

Credence sucked in a breath of air. “Really, _mein Herr_?” he asked, hopefully.

Gellert nodded and his hand went to his fly. Lazily, he began to undo the buttons of his trousers. “You may get to work, Credence,” he said.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks a lot to [@gothyringwald](http://gothyringwald.tumblr.com/) for beta-reading this chapter for me!

**Part One - Vendetta**

Percival Graves was being summoned to M’s office. The MI6 field agent had more than an inkling of what would await him once he was facing his boss. A few days ago, there had been a rather unfortunate incident involving a foreign embassy. Graves had been tasked with capturing a mole. If he didn’t manage to explain that the diversion caused by the exploding gas tank had been absolutely necessary, he’d probably be on desk duty for months.

On his way to M’s office, he passed by the desk of her secretary, Ewan Abernathy. Abernathy looked up from his computer and raised a single eyebrow when he spotted Graves. “Have you been naughty again, Percival?” he asked in a dry voice.

Graves rolled his eyes. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” he replied. Banter aside, Abernathy was a skilled secretary, and one of the few people who’d ever managed to get close to M. “What sort of mood is she in today?” he inquired.

“I’m not at liberty to say,” Abernathy said and started sorting through a thin folder.

“Fair enough,” Graves said. “By the way, I like your tie, Ewan. Is it new?”

Abernathy snorted and put down the folder. “You really believe flattery will get you everywhere, don’t you?”

Graves only grinned and waited. Abernathy’s expression softened. “Fine,” he sighed. “She’s been upset ever since we lost 007, which I can fully understand. Don’t push it.”

Graves nodded and thanked Abernathy for the advice. He leaned in and lowered his voice: “They found his body, I heard?”

“Washed up on a riverbank near Innsbruck,” Abernathy supplied. “A guy from Forensics let it slip that it will have to be a closed-casket funeral.”

Graves shuddered. “Poor Scamanders,” he said. “They were so proud of Theseus, weren’t they?”

“It’s been hard on all of MI6, too,” Abernathy replied. “But, of course, I feel sorry for the family. There’s a reason why we keep saying…”

“Orphans make the best recruits,” Graves finished for him. “It’s why _I’m_ here, after all.”

Graves’ parents had died in a hiking accident when he was 13. He had spent the rest of his adolescence at boarding school and stayed with various relatives over the summer holidays. After graduation, he didn't see a way to continue his education without sponging off his reluctant relatives, and had eventually heeded the advice of one of his uncles and joined the Royal Navy.

It had taken him some time to get used to Navy life and while it was by no means everything he’d ever dreamed of, it was at least something. After he’d been promoted to the rank of Commander, he’d been approached by an MI6 recruiter. Working for the secret service had sounded considerably more interesting than being a member of the Navy, and privately, Graves also thought it was more suited to his character, so he had agreed.

“It’s not only you,” Abernathy said. “It’s true for at least half the agents in the 00 section, too.”

“Well, I’m not a 00,” Graves said. “I’m just your regular agent doing field work and trying to come back alive. Although I’m probably in for a month of desk duty.” He squared his shoulders, took a deep breath and eyed the door to M’s office. “Wish me luck, Ewan.”

He knocked on the door and entered, while trying to appear as rueful as possible.

M sat on her desk and gave him a calculating look. Graves, in turn, took a moment to catalogue her, too. She was as well-dressed and well put together as ever. However, the lines on her face were deeper than they had ever been before and her blue eyes were suspiciously red-rimmed. (Although Graves was sure she would claim an allergy if he were to ask her directly.) To the uneducated eye, she might have looked like an elderly, frail lady, but there was a reason why M was the chief of MI6.

He greeted her.

For a second, she narrowed her eyes, but her expression ultimately shifted into one of approval. “Agent Graves,” she said. “It’s good to see you.”

“It’s good to see you, too, Ma’am,” he said, slightly confused. He’d expected a sharp reprimand and the usual speech about how his tendency to cause supposedly unnecessary property damage reflected badly on the Secret Intelligence Service as a whole, coupled with the announcement of having to be on desk duty for a while.

M cleared her throat. “I’m sure you have heard all about what happened to Agent Scamander,” she said.

Graves dropped his gaze. “Yes, it was most unfortunate,” he said in a low voice. “I suppose a crisis intervention team is with his family?”

M confirmed it. “Look at me, Graves,” she continued. “What do you really think of what happened to 007? I want your honest opinion.”

Graves blinked in surprise. Why did his opinion matter? “Death is always gruesome and ugly,” he began. “Especially concerning the circumstances in which Theseus died. But it would also be foolish to assume that death is not the possible outcome of a mission. If he were not convinced that dying on the job was a very real possibility, he would have picked the wrong job,” he said.

M nodded. “Even though people might call us cruel for thinking like that, I quite agree,” she said. “Theseus Scamander was a skilled agent and he will be sorely missed.”

Privately, Graves began to wonder why he was even having this conversation with M. Wasn’t the talk supposed to be about his alleged misconduct in Madagascar? Or did M just need someone to talk to and didn’t want to bother the other 00s?

“Nevertheless,” M continued, “Theseus left a gap in the ranks of the 00s, and this gap needs to be filled.” She held up a file. “Your marksmanship scores are excellent, and you passed all your physical examinations with flying colors,” she commented as she leafed through it. “The psychological evaluations are not as stellar, but still good enough that I have no doubt you are going to pass the next ones as well.”

“More evaluations?” he asked, before it dawned on him. “Ma’am, are you implying…”

“That you are being considered for the vacant 00 position?” she finished. “Yes, that’s exactly what I was implying. You are the best choice for the job. However, in the light of recent events, I would understand if you declined and continued to work as a regular field agent. 00 agents do get the most dangerous missions, as you very well know.”

It took a couple of moments for her statement to really sink in. For a second, Graves even forgot to breathe. Becoming a 00 was every agent’s dream and only very few could ever even hope of accomplishing that. To know that M had considered him, who had earned himself a reputation as a troublemaker, for such an elite position filled him with pride. He hesitated. Accepting the promotion meant that the risk of getting seriously hurt or even dying on the job would become significantly higher than it was now.

Theseus Scamander had been aware of the risk when he’d taken the job, too, Graves reminded himself, and other than Theseus, he didn’t have anyone who’d mourn him, should he die in the line of duty.

He clenched his jaw and met M’s gaze. “Ma’am, I am honored you think so highly of me as to offer me this position,” he said in a firm voice. “I accept, of course.”

“Good,” M said. She stood up and extended her hand.

Graves shook it. “Thank you, Ma’am.”

“Congratulations,” she said. “007.”

Graves suppressed a flinch. The code name didn’t sound as though it were meant to apply to him. Instead, it brought to mind the picture of a tall, broad-shouldered red-head, who always had a boyish twinkle in his eyes. Had Theseus felt the same when he’d gotten 00 status and, with it, the moniker 007? Or had the code name still been connected to Bond, the blue-eyed man with the dirty blond hair and the face of a butcher, who had been 007 before Theseus?

Perhaps the code name would never feel quite as though it was _his_.

Graves was about to leave M’s office, when she called him back. “Graves,” she said. “For obvious reasons, I would like to keep your promotion a secret until after the funeral. We don’t want the family to think...well, you know what I mean.”

He slowly nodded. “Was that everything, Ma’am?”

“Not quite. Training starts next week, Graves.”

Graves nodded again, thanked her and left the office. He closed the door on his way out and must have looked confused, because Abernathy picked up on it.

“Did she really condemn you to desk duty?” he asked sympathetically. “You know, most departments aren’t actually that bad. If you tell me which department you’ve been assigned to, I’ll put in a good word for you with the department head.”

Graves shook his head. “Thanks, but I’m not grounded.”

Abernathy gasped. “She didn’t fire you, did she?”

“No,” he replied quickly. “No, she didn’t fire me, either.”

“Then what _did_ she do?”

“I’m not supposed to talk about it yet,” Graves admitted, but apparently, even that evasive answer had already been too much.

Abernathy mouthed ‘Oh’ and a knowing expression spread over his face. “I think congratulations are in order, then?”

Graves shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Perhaps wait with that until it’s official,” he said. “I also can’t imagine the 00s are going to be amused to learn that M decided to replace Agent Scamander so quickly.”

“Okay, since that seems to bother you, I’ll let you in on a little secret,” Abernathy said. “If M offered you a 00 position, that means that Q personally recommended you to M, and Q doesn’t just do that without consulting with the other agents. Since there aren’t a lot of them, the 00 section is a rather tight-knit group as you might imagine.”

Graves said he had. While knowing that he had been personally chosen by Q, MI6’s quartermaster, reassured him at least to some degree, being reminded that the other 00s had already known each other for years and formed connections was not consoling. How was he ever going to fit in?

“Don’t worry about it too much,” Abernathy said and smiled. “They’ll make you feel right at home. As I said before, if they didn’t think you’d be a good addition to the team, M would not have offered you the position.”

He glanced back to M’s office door for a moment and raised an eyebrow. “I somehow don’t believe that a bunch of agents can tell M what to do and she just accepts it,” he said skeptically.

“You have to keep in mind that every single 00 saved England at least once,” he answered. “If they consider you worthy of becoming one of them, and Q gave her approval, too, then you better believe it’s for real.”

“I guess I just need a bit more time,” Graves said and scratched the back of his neck. “It’s all quite sudden. I really thought I was going to be suspended, and instead I got a promotion. And why are _you_ so well informed when it comes to the internal structures of the 00 section?”

Abernathy spread his arms and shrugged exaggeratedly. “None of the 00s likes MI6’s psychologists much,” he said. “And before you’re going to say anything, believe me, the 00s are worse,” he threw in, when Graves opened his mouth to say that most of the regular field agents didn’t like the psychological examinations, either.

“They don’t want to help us,” he mumbled. “They only want to peek inside our head, to see if we still function enough to be sent on another mission.”

“Anyway, as I was saying, at some point the 00s must have decided that the best person to speak about their troubles with is me,” Abernathy went on. “Acting as a counselor for elite spies was not part of the job description, let me tell you, although it does explain why Eve gave me that knowing grin when I took over…”

“Ewan?” Graves asked.

Abernathy snapped out of it. “Sorry, I was lost in my thoughts,” he said. “As for you, I suggest you go down to Q branch and say hello. One or two 00s are bound to be hanging around there, probably nagging Q about building them an exploding watch, or some ridiculous gadget like that. If you’ve got any questions about the specifics of the job, how exactly your new missions are going to look like, ask 009, he’s been doing this job for the longest time.”

Graves thanked Abernathy, said he would do just that and began to make his way to Q branch.

A couple of days later, Graves attended Theseus Scamander’s funeral. He did his best to stay in the background, both during the service and during the interment. The image of Agent Scamander’s parents and his younger brother, all three with tears streaming down their cheeks, bowed down by grief, was going to haunt his dreams for a while, of that he was sure.

Orphans did make the best recruits, not least of all because there would be no grieving relatives if they died in the line of duty. There would be no grieving relatives if _he_ , Percival Graves, died in the line of duty, either. Graves swallowed and closed his eyes for a moment, trying not to dwell on the sight of 006, embracing a sobbing Q.

Graves waited until most of the other attendants had left the funeral, going either home or to the reception. Of the 00s, only 009 was still around, but he had wandered off to another grave. Relatives, Graves suspected, or perhaps another agent who’d met the same unfortunate fate as Theseus.

With heavy, reluctant steps he made his way to Agent Scamander’s final resting place. The headstone read:

_Theseus Apollo Scamander_

_Beloved son and brother_

_1978 - 2016_

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I know we didn’t really know each other, but I...I’m…”

“Percival,” said a voice behind him and Graves whirled around in an instant. How had he let his guard down so much? Unprofessional behavior like that got people injured, one of his instructors in the Navy used to say. Behavior like that got people killed.

The person behind him turned out to be 009, also known as Albus Dumbledore. He had obviously returned from whatever grave he was visiting. His expression was sympathetic, but Graves couldn’t help but notice that the agent looked old and weary. His auburn hair was receding, leaving him with a high hairline and his usually twinkling blue eyes, which looked rather glassy today, were surrounded by surprisingly deep wrinkles. It wasn’t hard to guess that they weren’t laughter lines.

“I didn’t expect you to stay behind, Percival,” Dumbledore said. “This keeps playing on your mind, doesn’t it?” he continued and indicated the fresh grave.

“How could it not?” Graves asked in a low voice. “Theseus dies, and MI6 just replaces him, fills the gap with another agent, as though he never even existed. I wouldn’t have gotten the job if he hadn’t…”

“Believe me when I say that Theseus knew about the danger he was putting himself into,” Dumbledore said. “Theseus chose to risk his life to protect his country and his countrymen, going so far as to sacrifice his life. I think we should honor that sacrifice.”

“I know that,” Graves replied quietly. “But there’s a difference between _knowing_ that any agent could die on a mission and then having it _happen_. Did you see his family? That was nearly impossible to watch,” he said and clenched his fists.

Dumbledore’s expression became wistful and he gently guided Graves away from Theseus’ final resting place. “Let me show you something,” he said.

Graves was momentarily confused, but followed Dumbledore. Soon it became clear that he was leading him to another part of the cemetery. They came to a halt in front of a large, marble headstone. The grave, he noticed, was well taken care of. There was not one single weed to be spotted among the purple and white colored pansies.

“It is my fault they died,” said Dumbledore.

Only then did Graves look up and read the inscription on the headstone.

_In loving memory of_

_Kendra Dumbledore_

_12.02.1941 - 31.08.1989_

_and her daughter_

_Ariana Dumbledore_

_24.07.1975 - 31.08.1989_

_Where your treasure is, there will your heart be also._

“Your mother and sister?” Graves asked.

Dumbledore only nodded.

“I’m so sorry for your loss. Did....did you want to talk about what happened to them?” The date of death was the same, so he suspected an accident of some sort. Maybe it had been a car crash, and 009 had been the driver. In that case, it would not be unusual for him to blame himself for their deaths.

“It was my fault,” Dumbledore repeated, but did not offer any additional information. Graves took that as a sign that he would not get more out of the agent, even if he tried. “It was their deaths that solidified my decision to work for MI6. I want to stop as many criminals as I can, and keep them from committing more crimes, and I am going to keep doing that for however long I still can.”

That did _not_ sound as though their lives had been claimed by an accident, and from the way Dumbledore had pronounced the word “criminal”, Graves thought there might be an even more gruesome explanation for their deaths. He glanced at Dumbledore and, for all his thoughts of how the agent had looked old and past his prime, his body language exuded determination, now.

“What happened to my family is my reason for fighting,” 009 admitted. “My goal in life is to prevent it from happening again, to other people, whenever I can. I know I am willing to die for my goal. I don’t know what Theseus’ reason was, but he must have had one. Otherwise, he would not have been able to work as 00 for so long. I suggest you think long and hard about the reason why you joined MI6, Percival, and find your motivation. If you cannot find it, do not take the 00 position.”

Graves didn’t answer for a couple of long moments. “Thanks for telling me,” he said finally. “I appreciate your choice to share your opinion with me and, once again, I’m so sorry for your loss.”

009 acknowledged his answer with a thin smile. “Your goal, Percival?”

He looked down at the tips of his shoes. “I’m going to think about it,” he said.

“Let me know when you find it,” Dumbledore replied.

“You think I will find one?”

“I _know_ you will,” 009 said. “You’ve got what it takes to become a great agent. Seize the chance and make us proud.”

“Us?” he asked.

“Q, the other 00s and me,” Dumbledore replied. “M, too. We believe in you. It’s time you believe in yourself as well.”

Graves was momentarily speechless, but managed to thank Dumbledore. He felt reassured, there was no doubt about that. Somehow, speaking to 009 had helped him more than any talk with the psych department.

At home, Graves poured himself two fingers of Irish whiskey, sat down at his desk and started to massage his temples with his fingers. Why had he joined MI6? Because he’d thought he’d functioned better as a lone fighter, than in a team, which is why being a field agent had sounded so attractive to him. Why had he joined the Navy? Because he’d been out of options after school.

He sighed, took a sip of his whiskey and got himself a piece of paper and a pen. On the top of the paper, he wrote _Semper occultus_ , the MI6 motto. Underneath it, he wrote _Si vis pacem, para bellum_ , the motto of the Royal Navy. For good measure, he added the motto of his old school, _Volle, audere, scire_ , too.

Those were the organizations, that, for better or worse, had been determining the course of Graves’ life up until now. Did he identify with any of the core values of the organizations? He discarded the school motto right away. He’d spent some miserable years at that institution. He’d gotten into more trouble than he probably should have and had only narrowly avoided expulsion a couple of times.

On to the Navy, then. _If you want peace, prepare for war_. It certainly corresponded with Graves’ tendency to be wary of everyone, at first, but he had always thought that it was a counter-productive slogan. If you were always gearing up for war, you lacked the resources to forge a lasting peace.

That left MI6’s slogan, _Always secret_. ‘If the public doesn’t know that we are doing our job, then we are doing our job well,’ one of his instructors had told the rookie agents, including Graves, during his very first week of training. ‘Your job is going to be to defend this country and its citizens. There are threats to national and international security out there, and it will be your job to neutralize them, in a way that the ordinary citizens never find out that they were being threatened at all.’

Graves had liked the sound of that, and the thought behind it. It had made him think of warriors, hiding in the shadows, an invisible line of defense, ready to take out the bad guys and thus contributing to society in a meaningful way. Or, at least in a more meaningful way than the majority of his schoolmates, who’d gone into finance.

Of course people died in this line of work, he hadn’t had any illusions about that in the first place, but, so far, he’d always been cocky enough to assume that he’d get out of any situation alive. Now, though, having stood in front of Agent Scamander’s grave, he had to acknowledge his own mortality, otherwise he’d never succeed in going on missions meant for 00 agents.

00s...the elite of MI6. Graves snorted, took another sip of his whiskey and circled his school’s motto on the paper. Who would have thought he’d ever be part of any elite? Certainly not his teachers, who had gone to great lengths to assure Graves that, with his attitude, he’d never amount to anything in the world.

Reluctantly, he wrote the motto of the 00 section, _Numquam retro, numquam cede_ , on the very top of the paper, too. “Never aback, never surrender,” Graves mouthed. Even if it meant laying down your life for the cause.

Orphans didn’t only make the best recruits because they didn’t have a family that could mourn them. They didn’t have anyone or anything else in life other than MI6. The Secret Service became their new family, their reason to keep on fighting, even though it seemed meaningless, sometimes. You got back from one mission, feeling good because you stopped evil in one part of the world, and, inevitably, there would be a new mission. In his experience, every single agent started out as idealistic, thinking they could single-handedly save the world. Graves himself had lost that idealism after his first missions.

As a 00, however, he would take on more responsibility than before, and would contribute more to keeping his country and countrymen safe. There were only ever ten 00s, and being chosen to become one, even being considered for the position, was an honor. Graves would be stupid if he didn’t accept.

Maybe that was his goal, he thought. Doing his part, contributing in a way he thought made sense - he’d be facing off against the real life villains, who often had little to do with their movie counterparts. Perhaps he wouldn’t succeed in making the world a better place, but he could still fight, one mission at a time, to the best of his abilities.

He downed the last of his whiskey and nodded to himself. Yes, he was going to do everything it took to become a good agent and a worthy replacement for Theseus Scamander.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want to make me smile/blush/squeal/cry tears of joy/etc. leave me a comment <3


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tina and Queenie's relationship was inspired by [this prompt on the fbawtft kinkmeme](https://fantasticbeasts-kinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/1184.html?thread=1686688#cmt1686688)
> 
> Seraphina's relationship with Madame Ya Zhou is a nod to the fic ["the politicians"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12324498) by the most wonderful bluebeholder
> 
> Thanks to gothyringwald and binary-suunset for beta-reading this chapter!

The training he had to go through before he could officially take Theseus’ place as 007 was harder than anything Graves had ever experienced. At the end of it, he felt much stronger than before and more confident than ever.

Once he officially joined the ranks of the Double-0s, the promotion didn’t feel entirely undeserved anymore, even though being addressed as 007 still took some getting used to.

In the roughly six months since his promotion, he had only met half the agents making up the Double-0 section - the other ones were involved in deep cover missions all over the world.

Yesterday evening, Graves had gotten back from his last mission. He’d made it through the obligatory visit to medical early this morning. He still had a bit of time before he was due to report in Q branch, and decided that he might as well have a look at some statistics to see how the other 00s fared in the standardized tests compared to him.

He sat down at a computer, and, after a couple of minutes of comparing statistics and taking notes on which areas he could improve in, Graves found a statistic which boggled his mind. Apparently, the MI6 record for drawing a gun and emptying a nine round magazine was held by Seraphina Picquery, 002. If the statistics were to be believed, she managed to do it in 1.92 seconds.

After sitting in front of the screen for a few seconds, and contemplating how it would even be possible to shoot that quickly, he shook his head, shut down the computer and made his way to Q branch.

As he strode through the door, eager for his next assignment, he could see Q sitting at her desk. She was typing rapidly on her computer as she fired off clipped instructions into her headset.

“009 is in a bit of a pickle,” a female voice commented.

Graves turned around. “004,” he greeted the agent. “You said Albus is in trouble?” he added and cocked his head in the direction of Q’s desk.

“I don’t know much about his mission, but he managed to make Q angry,” 004 said. “There haven’t been any broken mugs, yet, but I’d say it’s only a question of time. Five minutes, at the very most.”

Graves glanced to Q’s desk again. “I hope not, that mug is nearly full and still steaming.”

“You want to bet?”

“Not today, Madame Yà Zhōu,” he said with a lopsided grin.

Madame Yà Zhōu was not 004’s real name, but rather a pseudonym she had chosen when taking the position as a 00. Using a pseudonym had been common among the 00s up until the 1990s, but had fallen out of fashion. As far as Graves knew, Madame Yà Zhōu was the only agent currently using a pseudonym.

“Actually, I was hoping to speak to your wife,” Graves continued. “I had a look at some statistics and her shooting skills are insane.”

“Seraphina is going to come in later today. She has a doctor’s appointment. Adjustments regarding her hormone therapy,” 004 explained. “I’ll tell her you wanted to see her, okay?”

Graves thanked her.

In that moment, Q let out an audible sigh of relief, wiped her brow and leaned back in her chair. She looked up and spotted Graves.

“Percival,” she greeted him and gestured for him to come closer.

As he approached her, he saw the dark circles under her eyes, recognized them as a sign of unusual stress and drew his conclusions.

“I assume Albus is safe?” he asked. “And how’s 006?” he added, knowing that the agent’s latest mission had almost gone south last night.

“Still happily married to me,” Q replied, a bit too chipper to sound natural.

He leaned in. “What’s really going on?” he murmured.

Q frowned, clearly unhappy. “We managed to reestablish contact with Tina early this morning. She’s injured,” she whispered and anxiously twisted the wedding ring on her left hand. “Still, her mission was a success and she’ll be coming home within the week.”

“You must be relieved,” Graves said quietly.

Q nodded quickly and took a sip of her coffee.

“That’s good,” Graves mumbled and gave Q a few moments to calm down, before he continued: “I won’t bother you any longer, I’m just here to collect my equipment for the Macau mission.”

Q’s eyes widened. “You don’t know yet?” she exclaimed. “Abernathy was sent to tell you!”

“Tell me what?” Graves inquired. “He must have missed me, because I didn’t see him.”

“I put 004 on the Macau mission instead of you,” Q explained.

“Is this because of what I did in Haiti?” he asked.

“No,” she said and grabbed a file from her desk. “An opportunity came up and I thought you’d want the chance to…,” she hesitated and took a long look around Q-Branch. “We should go to a more private place.”

“Queenie, if you keep this up, Tina’s going to be jealous,” he teased her, but Q obviously wasn’t in the mood for banter.

Instead, she cocked her head in the direction of a more secluded office. Graves entered the room and Q followed him. She carefully closed the door behind her and handed him the file. “This will interest you.”

He opened it and found a character profile. “‘Laetitia Lestrange’,” he read. The photograph showed a young woman with dark skin and dark eyes. “‘Contract killer. Also known as Leta Lestrange or Leta van Detta.’ The last one is a bit over the top, wouldn’t you agree?”

“She killed Theseus,” Q said in a flat voice. “She’ll be in London tonight. I thought it would be fitting, you know? 007, taking revenge for the death of 007.”

Graves’ eyes flickered back to the photograph of the hitwoman for a moment. “I’ll do it.”

“I expected nothing less,” Q responded. “Soo-hyun has been tracking her for a while. Everything she found out about Lestrange, you will find in the folder,” she said.

Soo-hyun was another MI6 agent, but contrary to Graves, she was a regular field agent. They had gone on a few missions together in the past, and he knew that she was a reliable agent.

“Lestrange’s behavior in London has been strange, to say the least,” Q said. “Every six to eight weeks, she is in London for a night. She always watches the same apartment, but she has never shot any of the inhabitants…”

“I’m supposed to follow her and take her out, before she has a chance to kill anyone,” Graves summed up.

Q nodded tersely. “I’ll have all the details and the equipment ready for you later,” she said and opened the door of the room to walk out. “If you’ll excuse me for now, I need to finish a report for M.”

Graves mumbled an incoherent response and followed her out of the office. Because he didn’t have to prepare for the Macau mission after all, he chose to frequent MI6’s gym.

On his way to the gym, he ran into 002, who arched one of her thin eyebrows and asked him if he was pissed because he didn’t get to go on the Macau mission.

He returned her smirk. “I won’t get bored, if that’s what you’re asking, Seraphina,” he replied.

“You know, if you didn’t destroy so much equipment on your missions, perhaps Q would have sent you instead,” 002 suggested. “But M has been complaining we need to meet the budget.”

“It doesn’t have anything to do with that,” Graves said and finally relaxed enough to manage a grin. “Anyway, I was talking to your wife about your insane shooting speed. Are those numbers for real? A nine round magazine in under two seconds?”

Seraphina nodded. “Yes, I’m quite proud of that,” she answered. “And before you ask: Lots and lots of practice. If you’ve got time, we can go to the shooting range and I can show you.”

Graves agreed, saying he had just enough time before he had to start to prepare for his new mission.

“Anything exciting?” Seraphina asked while they made their way to the shooting range. She cut an impressive figure and all the employees they came across eyed Seraphina with expressions that oscillated between admiration and fear. Graves couldn’t blame them. Even though they were both 00s, and so technically the same rank, within the internal, unofficial structures of MI6, Seraphina was worlds away from Graves’ status. In fact, she was something of a legend, having personally saved the then Prime Minister from an assassination attempt nearly a decade ago.

Graves would have been stupid not to make the most of any opportunity to learn something by watching 002. He explained that he was going to be sent on a revenge mission and Seraphina’s expression hardened.

“Good,” she said. “If they didn’t make me use up all my accumulated overtime, I would ask Q if I could come with you,” she added. “I was quite fond of Theseus. He was a good agent and a good friend. You would have liked him…,” she broke off. After a long inhale and exhale, she continued, “Anyway, give them hell from me. Scratch that, give them hell from the entire 00 section. And most importantly, come back in one piece.”

By now, they had reached the shooting range. They encountered a couple of rookie agents, who started whispering and giggling the moment they spotted Seraphina and Graves.

“Looks like you’re popular with the trainees,” Seraphina said and winked at him. “Just a little warning,” she added and lowered her voice. “Don’t take advantage. Q would have your head if you did.”

“What makes you think I’d take advantage?” Graves hissed.

Seraphina shrugged. “Every 007 in the history of MI6 has had a certain, how shall I put it, _reputation_ ,” she replied. “It was especially bad in the 60s and 70s, when honeypot missions were much more common. Queenie got her hand on some files from the 70s and you wouldn’t believe how often the agents had to be treated for STDs.”

“I didn’t need to know _that_ ,” Graves replied and made a little shooing gesture in the direction of the rookie agents. It had little effect. They fell back a bit, but ultimately decided to stick around to watch whatever the two 00s had planned.

They put on hearing protectors, Seraphina reached into the inside of her coat and took out her gun.

“Fully loaded,” she said loudly. “Now, watch and learn.”

Seraphina emptied the magazine in record time. Six of nine bullets hit the target.

Graves whistled and Seraphina looked at him with a triumphant grin on her face. “Still got it, don’t I?” she said, after they’d taken off the hearing protectors. “If you’ve got time, I can give you a couple of pointers.”

Training with Seraphina had taken them the better part of an hour. Only once the last of the rookies had left, Graves did manage to relax a little.

“You still think you need to impress people, huh?” Seraphina asked and gestured to the door, through which the last of the trainees had left less than half a minute ago.

“I don’t exactly have a choice.” Graves shrugged and loaded his gun, while trying to remember all the hints Seraphina had given him. “I need to earn that 00-status somehow, don’t I?”

Seraphina gestured for him to put down the gun. “You think I felt prepared when they promoted me?” she asked, intently peering into his eyes.

“...yes?”

Seraphina snorted. “No, I didn’t,” she replied. “It’s a harsh truth, but the majority of 00s don’t make it to retirement age,” she continued. “HR can’t exactly plan that, can they? In turn, that means most agents who get promoted don’t know they’re even being considered for 00-status until they get the offer. I got the offer because then-002 got killed during a botched up mission in Gibraltar. The same mission also cost the life of then-004 and they recruited Yà Zhōu to fill _that_ gap, because she was the best agent from Section H...yes, section H still existed at the time, yes, I know, that means I’m old, don’t give me that look.”

“Wait, does that mean you and your wife met in 00-training?” he asked.

The other agent nodded. It was not difficult to divine that being an agent for the secret service was not exactly beneficial for long-term relationships. Ever since he had first joined MI6, Percival had experienced that first-hand. (Although he had to admit that it had not been any easier in the Navy, either.)

Every girlfriend or boyfriend he’d had over the years had started to question why Graves had to leave on ”business trips” so very frequently and came back looking worse for wear more often than not. Due to the fact that MI6 missions were a matter of international security and Graves was sworn to secrecy, he could not reveal any details to his partners. In the end, every single one of his relationships had ended with them accusing him of being unfaithful and conducting affairs behind their back and no excuses or explanations Graves came up with were enough to dissuade them.

Not that he could blame his exes. Agents weren’t the easiest people to date or live with, which probably explained why the 00s were either single or dating each other. Graves had been a bit disconcerted at first that “Don’t fuck the company!” didn’t seem to apply when it came to the 00-section. Q had shrugged and explained that MI6 put up with the fact that some of their elite spies were involved with each other, because the 00s were, objectively, among the country’s most dangerous people, and it would be stupid not to keep them happy.

“That explains the 00s,” Graves had answered. “What about you?” he’d asked, alluding to Q’s marriage to Tina Goldstein, 006.

“When I want to, I can be more dangerous than all my agents put together,” she’d said.

Graves had raised one of his strong eyebrows. “Damn,” he’d replied in a low voice. “You can be scary. I admit, I’m relieved you’re on our side.”

In lieu of an answer, Q had only grinned and adjusted her glasses.

In short, even though anti-fraternization regulations didn’t seem to apply to 00s, Graves was still woefully single and had been for a couple of years already. He’d only ever had either one-night-stands or very short-lived flings, always making it clear right from the start that he was not looking for a relationship.

002 concluded her impromptu training session with a couple words of advice and they went back to Q branch again. Graves wanted to collect his equipment, just like Q had promised him and Seraphina said she wanted to talk to her wife about her mission in Macau.

Seraphina went over to her wife and they began to discuss mission details in a low voice.

Graves joined Q at her desk. She looked considerably more relaxed and cheerful than before.

“Albus is on his way to London,” Q explained and narrowed her eyes. “And I hope he’s going to use the duration of the flight to recover, because I’ll have to tear him a new one for not following my instructions. I was so worried about him.”

“But if the mission was a success, regardless of whether he followed your instructions or not, what does it matter?” he asked to rile her up a little.

Q let out a theatrical sigh and rolled her eyes. “Oh dear, he’s already starting to rub off on you. And I had such high hopes,” she said and took a sip of her coffee.

Q’s addiction to caffeine was a bit of a running gag in MI6 and the 00 section was traditionally required to gift Q coffee mugs for her birthday. She insisted it was only fair, since most of the mugs would end up in shards on the floor, when one of the 00s did something reckless and she ended up accidentally shoving the mug off her desk in a fit of frustration.

The mug she was currently drinking out of had the saying _“When the Queen is happy, there is peace in the Kingdom”_ on it.

He gestured to the mug. “One of Tina’s gifts?” he asked.

“Yes,” Q said and smiled to herself before she fixed him with a pointed look. “That’s your reminder that you’ve still got two months to come up with a gift mug for me.”

“I’ll do my best,” Graves said. “Now, about that equipment for my mission tonight…”

“Right.” Q signaled for her assistant R. “Take over for a minute, will you, I need to brief 007 on his mission tonight.”

She rose from her desk and gestured for Graves to come with her. “Don’t expect too much equipment,” she began.

“You’re not punishing me because I tend to destroy so much equipment, are you?” he asked.

“No,” Q replied slowly. “But since your mission is going to take place in London, tonight, you won’t _need_ much equipment. Here,” she said and showed him a gun. “Walther PPK, MI6 standard issue. It’s keyed to your handprint, so it cannot be used against you.”

“Or others, if I’m not the one firing it.”

“Or others,” Queenie confirmed. “Now, I think that was...oh, I almost forgot! Roll up your sleeve and hold out your arm, 007.”

Graves frowned but did as he was told. He reluctantly held out his arm to Q. “What are you…?” he began, but Q got out a syringe and injected something into his arm with lightning speed.

“There, all done,” she said with a bright smile as she removed the syringe.

Graves recoiled. “What the fuck, Q?” he said and held his arm. “What was that?”

She held up the empty syringe. “SmartBlood,” she explained.

“SmartBlood?”

“Our newest invention. It allows me to track you during a mission so I always know exactly where you are. It also tracks your vital signs. I think it’s rather brilliant,” Q replied with a proud grin.

Graves scowled. “You microchipped me like a dog,” he complained. “I hope you’re not planning to inject Tina with the same stuff, that sounds like an awful lot of control to have over your partner.”

Q rolled her eyes. “It’s only activated when you’re on a mission,” she calmed him. “I’m not going to supervise you in your down time, don’t worry about that.”

Graves narrowed his eyes and slowly rolled down his sleeve. “You ought to have told me what you were going to do,” he grumbled.

“Please,” Queenie said. “As if you’d have agreed to it. Now, if you take out that...that woman,” she paused and her face looked as though she were chewing on a lemon. “If your mission is a success, there might be an exploding watch in it for you.”

Graves felt his face light up. “Really?” he asked, barely able to contain his excitement.

“Yes. Accept the actual, groundbreaking inventions and I’ll make you stupid outdated gadgets.” She shook her head and sighed. “Agents.”

“Was that everything, Q?” he asked. “A gun and a tracking device in my blood?”

“As far as equipment goes, yes.” She looked uncomfortable for a moment. “There’s something I haven’t yet told you about Lestrange.”

Graves looked at her with an expectant expression.

“Lestrange went to school with Theseus’ little brother,” she said with a scowl. “They were best friends, can you believe it? He got expelled because he took the fall for something _she_ did. I hacked the school records and it said it had to do with the torture of animals. As if Newt Scamander would ever do anything that put an animal in harm’s way…”

He was so surprised to hear that, his eyebrows must have been touching his hairline. “Theseus Scamander’s little brother saved her skin at school and she repaid him by killing his brother?” he whispered.

Q nodded and let out some particularly descriptive expletives, referring to Lestrange. “Theseus’ family doesn’t know it, yet. We...we wanted to tell them when we captured her.”

“So I’m to capture her?” Graves asked. “I thought I was being sent to kill her.”

Queenie’s expression hardened. “Find out who her employer is,” she instructed him. “This is strictly off the record, but I don’t care how you get that information out of her and I also don’t care if she’s alive once you know who she’s working for.”

Graves met her cold eyes with the same, determined, but ultimately expressionless gaze. “Good thing being a 00 comes with a licence to kill, then,” he said.

The left corner of Q’s mouth quirked upwards, but there was no humor in her voice when she said: “Lestrange is going to find out that nobody is going to get away with making me...making _Six_ lose an agent.”

Graves nodded and locked eyes with her. “Consider it done, Q.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   * Since Madame Yà Zhōu literally means Madame Asia, I thought I’d do my best to save it by making it a code name.
>   * If you were wondering about hormones - Seraphina is a transwoman in this fic. This was totally unplanned, it's just something that I found out about the character while writing her. It's not going to impact the fic in any way, though.
>   * Unfortunately, I can't take credit for the name "Leta van Detta". "Van Detta" is the name of the Lestrange family in the Dutch translation of HP. I like it, though, because the name "Leta van Detta" sounds like an old-school bond villain.
>   * Soo-hyun is actually Maledictus girl. Since her character’s name hasn’t yet been revealed, I used the Korean name of her actress instead. I'll edit it once her character's name has been revealed.
>   * I also thought of a theme song for the fic and decided on [Rise Like A Phoenix](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W62JHOddvrU). First of all because I'm Austrian and because I actually like the song, especially the lyrics, and think they fit the fic quite well!
> 



	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Content warning: violence, choking, character death**
> 
> Thanks to gothyringwald for beta-reading!

 

Graves had spent the remainder of the day reading through the files Q had given him on Lestrange, after discussing the mission with her and Soo-hyun.

Lestrange looked like any of the dozens of women he saw every morning on his way to work. If he had come across her in his daily life, perhaps bumped into her in the street, or waited in line behind her to get on the bus, would he have noticed that she was actually a ruthless killer?

He scrutinized the photo in the file. There were vestiges of danger in the glint in her eyes and the hard set of her mouth.

Graves recognized that look all too well. It was the look he himself got shortly before he set out on a mission.

It was the look of a predator stalking its prey.

According to Soo-hyun, Lestrange had a routine of surveying a family in an apartment, ready to shoot if necessary, but, so far, she had never fired a shot. It seemed odd. Lestrange had made a name for herself in the European crime scene as a skilled assassin for hire.

However, maybe she wasn’t being paid to take a life in this case. Could it be that she had been hired to protect someone?

Graves had brought that theory up with Q and Soo-hyun that afternoon, when they had been discussing the files.

Queenie had seemed to like the theory, but Soo-hyun had not been entirely convinced.

“It would explain a lot,” she’d admitted. “Still, Lestrange is someone you hire if you need someone to disappear, quick and easy. She’s never worked as a bodyguard before. It doesn’t make sense.”

Lestrange had been surveying the same family during all of her visits in London - the Dearborn family. They regularly made it into lists of Britain’s richest families. Over the centuries they had amassed a fortune. The family consisted of Philip Dearborn, the young  _ pater familias  _ of the Dearborn clan, his wife Dorcas and their two adopted daughters, Cecily and Madeleine. Philip and Dorcas were both in their mid-forties, while Cecily was seventeen years old and Madeleine was ten.

The only person who did not fit into the picture was a young man, who appeared to be in his early twenties. According to Soo-hyun, he had been present at the Dearborn apartment every time Lestrange had surveyed it.

“He’s probably the reason why Lestrange is even here,” Soo-hyun had suggested.

“Not necessarily,” Q had said. “Correlation doesn’t prove causation, although I’ll admit it’s likely.”

Unfortunately, they knew practically nothing about the young man, except for a code name - “Obscurus”. Soo-hyun had overheard Lestrange speaking with someone via earpiece one night. Whomever she had talked with, she’d assured them that no harm would come to this ominous “Obscurus”.

“That makes it sound as though she’s protecting that young man. But from what? Is her employer scared that one of the Dearborns is going to attack him?” Graves had said. “Why can’t we just ask the Dearborns who ‘Obscurus’ actually is?”

Q had given him a long-suffering look. “I wish we could.” She had gone on to explain that the Dearborns lived a secluded life after one of their adoptive daughters had been assaulted six years ago. “They’re highly influential,” she’d said. “And friends with M to boot. They don’t want to be bothered.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“They made a considerable donation to Q branch and reserved the right to not answer any of our questions,” Queenie had admitted.

“That’s...that’s not how this works,” Graves had protested weakly.

“If you’re friends with M, apparently yes,” Soo-hyun had said with a bitter undertone.

“Since we’ve effectively been muzzled on the Dearborn front, you  _ need  _ to find out who Lestrange is working for,” Q had said.

Graves had every intention to do so. He was especially interested to figure out how “Obscurus” fit into all of this. The file included high-resolution photographs Soo-hyun had taken of the young man. When he’d first seen those photographs, he’d been surprised. Whoever “Obscurus” was, one thing was for sure - he looked stunning. Too waifish for Graves’ taste, perhaps, but he wouldn’t look out of place on a catwalk.

Graves closed the files and resolved not to dwell on those thoughts any longer. It was time to get ready for his mission and he needed to focus. 

He checked and double-checked his equipment. With a displeased grunt, he recalled that he didn’t have to worry about any tracking devices. Q had helpfully injected him with SmartBlood, her newest invention, thus using his very own blood to track his every move.

He went into the bathroom of his apartment to shave.

It wasn’t necessary per se, as he hadn’t accumulated any significant stubble, but the action of shaving had a relaxing effect on him. Over the years, it had become his own private ritual, which he went through whenever he needed to calm his nerves. Being calm and collected was essential before he went on a mission. Nervousness and anxiety led to mistakes and in his line of business, mistakes could all too easily have a deadly outcome.

Graves used an old straight razor which had belonged to his father. It was one of the few things he still had from his parents. He had missed the 20-year anniversary of their death earlier this year, because he’d been stuck on a mission in Serbia, trying his hardest not to join Edward and Suzanne Graves in the afterlife.

He leaned closer to the mirror and examined his face. His relatives used to tell him that he was the spitting image of his father. However, every time Graves got sentimental enough to dig out old photographs, he couldn’t help but think that his relatives were mistaken. There was a harshness to Graves’ features that he couldn’t find in any of the photographs of his father.

In general, his father had looked happier and more at ease with himself than Graves ever did. Lankier, too.

Graves had always been one to bulk up easily and the brutal MI6 training regimes left him with well-developed muscles. Whenever he chatted someone up in a bar, their first guess as to his occupation was “personal trainer”. He hardly ever bothered to correct their assumptions and bring up the token “Universal Exports” excuse. He wasn’t allowed to reveal his actual profession and nobody would believe him if he said he was an elite spy. In his book, “personal trainer” sounded leagues better than both “salesman” and “government-sanctioned killer”, anyway.

Graves finished shaving and dabbed some aftershave on his cheeks and neck, relishing the sting. Afterwards, he quickly finished getting ready for his mission and set off on his hunt for Leta Lestrange.

Q’s voice accompanied him via earpiece on his way to the correct address, a skyscraper whose glass facade appeared to be glittering in the night as it reflected the surrounding street lights.

Secretly, Graves was glad that Q was his handler for this mission. She was by far the best one he’d ever worked with and he trusted her instructions implicitly. Once he’d told her, only half in jest, that he considered her to be the most trustworthy person in all of MI6, second only to M herself.

Graves knew Q cared about her agents. Losing Theseus had been a harsh blow, and Graves was determined to avenge his death by dealing with his killer.

He located Lestrange in the exact same spot as Soo-hyun had said she would be, in one of the higher floors of the skyscraper, well over a hundred meters above ground level. ‘Good,’ he thought. It meant Lestrange likely wasn’t even suspecting that somebody was tracking her.

The situation was exactly as peculiar as the briefing and the files had made it out to be. Lestrange was lying in ambush, keeping her rifle trained on the building just across the street. Graves spared a glance at Lestrange’s apparent target. The Dearborn family were seated around the dinner table. “Obscurus” was among them and seemed to be discussing something with the elder Dearborn daughter.

It just didn’t make any sense.

Who would hire an assassin to observe the same apartment roughly once every two months for the duration of an entire evening? How did the Dearborn family play into all of this? And what was the significance of the mysterious, nameless young man, who probably went by the name of “Obscurus”?

His gaze shifted back to the sniper, who still hadn’t moved from her position.

Graves had a whole lot of questions and Lestrange had the answers, he was sure of it. He took another breath and started to move towards her. He had a job to do.

Graves took advantage of his surroundings and hid in the shadows as he crept towards Lestrange, trying to be as quiet as possible. Even if he had made some noise, Theseus’ murderer was so fixated on her task that he wondered whether she’d even hear him, or if she’d perhaps gone into some sort of trance.

He let his eyes glide over her form and felt a wave of overwhelming disgust and hatred.

That was new.

Usually, he kept his emotions in check during a mission, which meant that he tried not to feel anything at all. It made it easier to focus. There was nothing beyond the agent and the target, beyond the predator and the prey. If Graves started thinking of targets as humans, his emotions might get in the way of him doing his job, and he couldn’t let that happen.

Tonight was going to be different, he could feel it.

For once, Graves embraced the aggression, which, in combination with the adrenaline in his veins, served to sharpen his senses. Lestrange was responsible for killing a 00, a member of MI6, one of Percival’s brothers in arms. Scenes from Theseus’ funeral started flashing through his mind: Theseus’ parents weeping next to their son’s coffin, his little brother, who’d lost his sibling to his former friend and, lastly, the image of Q, sobbing, while her wife held her in her arms.

‘Nobody gets away with making me lose an agent,’ Q had said to him when she’d presented him with the mission.

Graves took a long look at Leta Lestrange, flexed his muscles and felt a basic, animalistic desire well up in him. He only needed a split second to identify it - it was the urge to kill.

He tried to get even closer to the woman without her noticing him. Suddenly she stiffened and whirled around. She snarled as she spotted him. In his rage, he had forgotten to stay in the shadows, and she must have noticed some movement out of the corner of her eyes which alerted her to his presence.

Graves cursed as she started attacking him. He fought back as good as he got, while he berated himself for letting his emotions get the better of him and making such a rookie mistake.

Graves had the height advantage and the superior strength, but Lestrange was incredibly quick. She tried to hit him with the butt stock of her rifle, but Graves evaded her and the rifle went off, causing the glass facade of the building to shatter. They were hit by a cold draft of air, courtesy of the London night.

For a moment, they both stared at the shattered window and Graves could see how Lestrange obviously swallowed. The moment she turned to face him again, he could see the wicked glint in her eyes and, suddenly, he knew what she had in mind.

“Oh no, you fucking won’t,” he growled and fought her off as she tried to force him towards the edge, to send him tumbling down a few hundred feet towards certain death. She’d gotten Theseus like that, she wouldn’t manage to kill another agent using the same method.

Graves landed a blow on her face. The crunch as Lestrange’s nose broke was oddly satisfying. Her hands predictably went to her face and Graves exploited that opportunity mercilessly. He threw Lestrange down onto the floor and began to choke her.

She struggled and scratched the backs of his hands, leaving bloody claw marks in her wake, but Graves didn’t let go. If anything, he increased the pressure and took pleasure in the panic he saw on Lestrange’s face.

Momentarily distracted, he looked up and noticed that the Dearborn family was gone from the dinner table. Only the young man, “Obscurus”, was watching the scene with what looked like rapt attention.

Something heavy hit the side of his head and he reflexively let go of Lestrange. He held the side of his head and rolled off her, before he could realize his mistake. Graves blinked. She had hit him in the head with her damn rifle.

A part of him was amazed that she’d had enough strength to lift the thing even for a second while he’d been choking the life from her body.

He was still on the floor, while Lestrange got up, coughing and gasping for air. She still managed to sneer at him, before another cough shook her small frame.

Graves almost reciprocated the sneer, because Lestrange had made a crucial mistake. She was standing dangerously close to the edge of the building but didn’t seem to notice it. He feigned drowsiness and when he heard her utter a triumphant cackle above him, he aimed a powerful kick at her feet.

Lestrange screeched. With satisfaction, Graves observed how she lost her balance, but Lestrange didn’t fall. Somehow, she managed to grip the edge of the floor with her fingertips. Her feet were dangling in the air and would not find purchase on the sleek glass that made up the building’s facade. She didn’t have enough strength to pull herself back up. For a moment, Graves was tempted to just sit down near the edge and watch Lestrange struggle until her muscles gave out and she had to let go.

No, he couldn’t do that. Q had tasked him with finding out who Lestrange worked for, so he would have to let her live - for a while, at least.

He leaned over the edge, until he could see her face staring up at him. Terror was etched into her features, contorting them into something almost surreal.

“This doesn’t have to be the end, Leta,” he yelled. “I can save your life, in exchange for information. Who do you work for?”

Her eyes were wide open and full of fear. Graves gave her a couple more seconds before she would give in and agree to tell everything she knew.

However, she took a deep breath and her expression shifted to one of determination.

The moment Lestrange’s grip started to slip and she threatened to fall, Graves shot forward. He managed to grab one of her hands and did everything in his power to keep himself from being dragged down by her weight.

“Who do you work for?!” he yelled again, but he’d lost her. Leta Lestrange seemed to be hell bent on dying, as she stared back up at him with a defiant expression.

“Fuck you,” she mouthed and let go of his hand.

He watched her fall towards the ground, like a puppet. She hit the ground and Graves averted his eyes for a moment.

When he looked up once more, he could see that “Obscurus” was still watching him. Graves doubted he would be able to make out any of his features, but he supposed he ought to get out of there regardless of whether anyone recognized him or not.

“Q?” he asked.

“007? What happened? Where’s Lestrange?” Q asked. He could just imagine her sitting in front of her computer screens, having drunk too much coffee and not being able to calm down, even after the mission was finished.

Graves looked up one more time towards the Dearborn apartment. The lights were still on in the dining room but “Obscurus” had disappeared.

His heart hammered from the residual adrenaline in his veins. “The job is done. The bitch is dead,” he said. “Theseus is avenged.”

**End Part One**


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **content warning: Nazi ideology is mentioned while discussing the Deathly Hallows symbol**
> 
> A huge thank you goes out to gothyringwald once again, for beta-reading this chapter <3

  **Part Two - Nurmengard**

After Leta Lestrange’s death, Seraphina and Yà Zhōu invited Graves, Abernathy and Q (Tina was not yet back from her latest mission) over to their flat. The five of them left a large dent in the well-stocked liquor cabinet.

The others shared their favorite memories of Theseus with Graves. He was asked  to recount his fight against Lestrange again and again.

It seemed as though the others were finally able to lay Theseus to rest. Graves began to think that he no longer felt like he had stolen his 00-status from Theseus.

The next morning, Graves had woken up with a pounding headache. As he took some ibuprofen to ease his pain, he recalled what he’d dreamed of last night. Or more accurately, who he’d dreamed of. It had been “Obscurus”.

Scenes from his rather explicit dream started to flash through his mind. Graves groaned, frustrated, and got up to take a cold shower.

* * *

 

“Forensics are done with Lestrange’s body,” Q greeted him one morning, two days afterwards. “I’ve got the autopsy report here,” she said and held a file under his nose.

Graves accepted the file and started leafing through it. He frowned at the pictures Forensics had taken of what had been left of Leta’s body. “That’s a bit...disgusting,” he said. “But it’s not like she deserved better,” he added, closed the file and handed it back to her.

“We found something interesting,” Q said and gestured for Graves to look at a computer screen. It showed the symbol of a simple ring, presumably made of silver or platinum. “Lestrange was wearing it. Take a look at the engraved symbol.”

The symbol Q was referring to was a triangle, which encompassed a circle. Both of them were, in turn, bisected by a vertical line.

He raised an eyebrow. “Should it ring a bell? Because it doesn’t.”

“It’s made up of a combination of very old and rare runes,” Q explained, while she motioned for one of her interns to refill her coffee mug. “So rare, in fact, that there’s just one scholar in the whole country who studies them, can you believe it?”

“Let me guess, you got that scholar to analyze the runes for you?” he asked.

“I _tried_ ,” Queenie said. “He insisted on a personal visit,” she added and rolled her eyes. “He knows M from when he was one of her teachers at school and apparently, he believes that means he can just drop by whenever he wants to.”

“Wait, you said he taught M when she was still in school?” Graves asked. “How old _is_ that professor?”

Q sipped her coffee. “He’s in his eighties, but refuses to quit. His secretary told me that she thinks his retirement plan is death.”

“He sounds less like a university professor and more like a 00,” Graves quipped.

“Don’t joke about that,” Q said, anxiously touching her wedding ring.

Graves apologized right before Q’s phone rang. She picked up the receiver. After listening for a couple of seconds, she told whoever was on the other end of the line to ‘send him in’.

“The professor has arrived, I assume?”

She nodded and massaged her temples for a moment. “I hope this is not going to be a waste of time,” she sighed.

Abernathy entered Q-branch only a minute later, walking in front of an elderly man in a suit that looked like it had been out of fashion for about two decades, give or take a few years. As Graves and Q approached him, the professor gave them a curious look.

After a second, he extended his hand in greeting to Graves. “Binns,” he introduced himself. “Professor Cuthbert Binns.” His voice had a wheezing, unhealthy quality to it. His eyes, on the other hand, had a youthful sparkle that seemed almost out of place on the professor’s face, which was littered with wrinkles.

Graves shook the old man’s hand. “Pleased to meet you, Professor,” he said.

“I take it you are the Quartermaster,” the professor said. “Pleased to meet you. Now, where are those runes you wanted me to analyze?”

Graves shook his head. “I’m not the Quartermaster, I’m just an employee,” he said. “Our brilliant Q is standing right next to me,” he continued and gestured to Queenie, who smiled sweetly at the old professor.

The professor turned to look at Q and frowned. “My secretary told me she was communicating with a so-called Major Goldstein. You mean you are…?”

“Major Queenie Goldstein, née Boothroyd,” she introduced herself, but made no attempt to shake the professor’s hand. “I’m the head of Q-branch and I was the one who communicated with your secretary. Is that a problem, Professor Binns?” she asked with a steely voice.

The professor opened his mouth to reply, but had momentarily lost his voice. He opened and closed his mouth a couple of times, like a fish on dry land, before he finally remembered to keep it closed.

Q’s smile returned. “Now that’s all taken care of, shall we have a look at the runes?” Without waiting for the professor’s answer, she looked first at Abernathy and Graves, and then turned on her heel to walk back to her desk.

Graves gave a minuscule nod to Abernathy and blocked the professor’s way when he motioned to follow Q. Abernathy took hold of his right forearm and maneuvered the old man into a corner.

Graves stepped closer until the professor had to look up to meet his gaze. “I understand this is your first time at MI6, but, you see, there are a couple of rules you need to observe,” he said in a low voice which he usually reserved for threatening targets. “The most important rule is that nobody, not under any circumstances, insults Q.”

Professor Binns shook his head. “I didn’t want to offend anyone. I’m sorry. I was just surprised,” he said. “I expected to meet someone more like me,” he added and looked down at his gnarled hands, densely covered with age marks. “The times really are changing.”

The professor seemed to be truly, profoundly sad. Graves looked at the old man with sympathy. After giving Abernathy a subtle sign to follow his example, he apologized, stepped back and led the professor over to where Q was already waiting for them.

The professor cleared his throat. “Major Goldstein, where are the runes you asked me to analyze?” he asked, acutely aware that both Graves and Abernathy were watching him with eagle eyes.

Q showed him a photo of the ring, the runic engraving on prominent display.

The professor’s eyebrows shot up as he saw the symbol. “Astonishing,” he mumbled. “This is not at all what I expected to see…”

“What does it mean?” Abernathy asked impatiently.

“That is the question,” the professor said. “We don’t know for sure.”

“What do you mean, you don’t _know_?” Graves said forcefully. “I thought you’re supposed to be an expert?” However, the professor appeared to be so completely engrossed in the runes that the possibility of angering Graves didn’t seem to faze him.

He only repeated that the runes were ‘quite astonishing’ and asked for a chair so he could sit down. Once one of the Q-branch employees brought a chair for him, he set the photo of the ring down on the desk and eyed Q with interest. “May I ask where you found that ring?”

“A target was wearing it at the time of their death,” Q explained. “The rest is classified information, I’m afraid.”

Professor Binns accepted it with a nod. “This symbol has been the source of conflict and heated discussions among academics for decades,” he began. “There have been disputes over its meaning ever since I first began my studies. I will try to keep my explanations as simple as possible, because I doubt any of you ever devoted any time to the study of runes.”

Queenie pointedly cleared her throat. “Please, professor, you analysis…?”

“Yes, well,” the professor continued. “You see this vertical line here? It is generally associated with ‘destruction of the doomed’ and can be translated several different ways, depending on the context, the most common of which are ‘power’, ‘force’ and ‘superiority’. The circle is much harder to interpret. Some scholars believe it could symbolize rebirth, but that is speculation at best and not backed up by any reliable sources. Others, myself included, believe that it is meant to symbolize Andvaranaut...a cursed ring in Norse mythology,” he added, when he saw the identical expressions of non-comprehension on Graves’, Queenie’s and Abernathy’s faces. “It promises infinite wealth, but it also brings ill luck to its wearer, often even causing the wearer’s untimely demise.”

“Sounds a bit like the One Ring,” Abernathy whispered to Graves, but the professor had heard it.

“Exactly,” he said. “Andvaranaut was one of Tolkien’s inspirations when he created the One Ring. Anyway, as you can see, we have an interesting combination of symbols already, but what makes it special is the triangular shape. It is most commonly associated with protection, but can also be translated as ‘secrecy’, ‘invisibility’ or even ‘invulnerability’.”

“So you explained the meaning of the components making up the symbol,” Q said. “But what does the symbol itself mean?”

“Most scholars believe that the symbol was meant to be a sort of talisman. For example, if you wanted to protect the inhabitants of a house from misfortune, you would draw that symbol on the door head. It could also be worn as a charm, on a chain around your neck, for example,” he said. “Nevertheless, some ‘scholars’ don’t agree with this interpretation. I use the term ‘scholar’ loosely, because I believe their methods involve little more than making wild claims, with no credible sources to back them up.” Professor Binns grimaced. “The most vocal of that bunch was without a doubt Hans-Ullrich Schwafel, a 19th century occultist and self-proclaimed ‘Germanologist’ who asserted that the symbol actually signified ‘purity’ or even ‘immortality’. It was subsequently used as a symbol by anti-semitic and racist splinter groups in Germany following World War I, most notably by the Teutonic Order and the Thule Society. Rumor has it that the symbol would have almost been used by the National Socialist German Workers Party, then a small group with just a handful of members. In the end, however, they chose the swastika as their symbol.”

Q blanched. “So this symbol is associated with Nazism and racism?” she said skeptically. Graves could guess why Queenie was hesitant to believe the Professor’s explanations. Why would Lestrange, of all people, have worn a symbol that stood for the same ideology as the swastika?

“Yes,” the professor confirmed. “Certain groups of right-wing extremists have used it in Germany in the past, since, contrary to symbols like the swastika or the sowilō rune, it has not been outlawed. It never gained much popularity, probably due to the symbol’s general obscurity.”

“Professor,” Queenie began and handed the professor a thin folder, “This symbol is also the logo of an exclusive club in Berlin, called _‘Das Heiligtum_ ’, ‘The Hallow’.”

“I’m not surprised. Schwafel’s main work was called ‘The Quest for the Hallows’, which referred to a centuries-old myth about three magical objects, although Schwafel interpreted the titular ‘Hallows’ as innate qualities of the supposedly superior ‘Aryan race’. A load of rubbish, of course, but it was unfortunately quite influential at the time,” Professor Binns said with a sigh as he leafed through the folder. “What you have gathered on that club strongly suggests it is a cover for a modernized version of the aforementioned racist splinter groups. They use the symbol and the rhetoric on their website is frighteningly similar to what you will find in Schwafel’s work. If their message sounds tolerant on the surface, that’s because the people behind this club want to avoid alerting the authorities to their presence.”

“Well, they alerted _one_ authority to their presence, already,” Graves said, a deliberately cruel smile playing around the corners of his mouth. “I took out one of their members already and I don’t have any qualms when it comes to taking out the rest as well.”

Professor Binns’ grimaced, probably having recalled Graves’ and Abernathy’s earlier attempts at intimidating him. “Are the agents under your command always so quick to threaten violence, Major Goldstein?”

“If they need to be,” Q responded, at the same time as Graves said, “Violence is my _job_.”

The old man still looked vaguely uncomfortable. “Fine, as long as you don’t use it against me,” he mumbled.

“I won’t have to, as long as you don’t give me a reason to do so,” Graves replied, enjoying the power game.

The professor tried to hold Graves’ gaze for a moment, but looked away after a second. “Well, anyway, I’ve given you my interpretation of the symbol,” he said and handed the file he was still holding back to Q.

She nodded and gave the professor a smile. “Thank you for your time, Professor Binns,” she said, before her expression turned serious. “I’m glad we could overcome our initial differences, if you know what I mean.”

The professor awkwardly cleared his throat.

Abernathy chose to break the embarrassing silence. “Is it true that you taught M when she was still at school?”

“Yes, I did,” Binns said, obviously grateful for the change of topic. “My wife, God rest her soul, had just had our first child and the position as history teacher came as if on cue. I liked it at the time, but in hindsight, I’m glad I only did the job for two years. Any longer and I think I would have bored myself to death. Anyway, I remember my colleagues and I always used to say that M was too clever for her own good, but she made excellent use of her brains, didn’t she? Of course, then we didn’t know her as M. Her girlfriends called her Betsy and to us professors she was simply Miss--”

“Stop!” Graves, Q and Abernathy yelled at the same time.

The professor shut his mouth and seemed equal parts confused and scared. “What did I do wrong?”

“Nobody mentions M’s name,” Abernathy explained.

“It’s one of those strange, old MI6 rules,” Graves added. “Due to the fact that M has been at MI6 longer than anyone else, nobody even knows her as anything other than ‘M’ these days.”

“ _I_ know her real name,” Queenie interjected and quirked a smile. “Betsy,” she mumbled. “That’s a good one.”

They thanked Professor Binns for his troubles once more and Abernathy was tasked with accompanying him back to the exit.

“So, it seems that this ‘Hallow’ club is the only lead we’ve got if we want to find Lestrange’s employer,” Q said and locked eyes with Graves. “Fancy a trip to Berlin, 007?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A couple of trivia/notes regarding this chapter:
> 
>   * I totally forgot to mention what inspired the title of this fic! "A Kiss of Death” comes from the song “Goldfinger”: “For a golden girl knows when he’s kissed her - it’s the kiss of death from Mr. Goldfinger”
>   * The Teutonic Order and the Thule Society sound like made up organizations but they actually existed: [Teutonic Order](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Germanenorden), [Thule Society](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Thule_Society)
>   * The name "Hans-Ullrich Schwafel" is a pun bc “schwafeln” is German for “to blather"
>   * My face-cast for Professor Binns is Desmond Llewelyn (Q in most of the pre-Craig Bond movies)
> 

> 
> Also: In the next chapter, Graves is finally going to meet Credence for real!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for taking longer to update than usual - I'm in an Extremely Stressful Situation right now, and writing and editing this chapter took a lot out of me. I hope you enjoy it.
> 
> Thanks to gothyringwald for being an amazing beta!

The day following the discussion with Professor Binns, Graves found himself in Q branch again. Queenie was bustling around him, making minor adjustments to the - quite frankly ridiculous - three-piece-suit he was wearing.

“It’s tailored,” he said and tugged at the lapels of his waistcoat. “Q, why is it  _ tailored _ ?”

“First of all, why do you sound so surprised?” she scoffed. “Sewing is just one of my many talents.” Graves opened his mouth to reply, but Q fixed him with a stern look. “The suit is  _ not  _ over the top, so don’t even think of complaining. It’s tailored because the ‘Hallow’ club is primarily frequented by wealthy people. You need to look as though you belong.”

He took a long look in the mirror hanging on the wall opposite him. “I look like I’m auditioning for the role of ‘Victorian dandy’ in a period drama.”

“No, you don’t,” she countered. “But thank you for telling me I’m good enough to work as a costume designer, I appreciate the compliment.”

“How am I supposed to fight wearing so many layers?” he asked, skeptically raising his arms over his head.

“The whole suit is made out of light-weight material, designed for comfort and maximum range of motion,” Q said. “Come on, Percival, don’t make that face,” she added, when Graves scowled at his reflection. “No, wait,” she corrected herself. “Do make that face.”

“What face?”

“The face that says you’re offended for whatever reason and that this is all beneath you,” she said with a barely disguised sarcastic undertone. “I’m sure you’ll fit right in with the usual clientele of the club in Berlin.”

“I can hardly wait,” he drawled.

“One last thing,” Q continued, ignoring his comment. She fished something out of the pocket of her cardigan. “There, put that on and the outfit is complete.”

“A watch,” Graves said, taking the chronograph from her hand. “Omega Seamaster,” he read out loud. He looked up and allowed himself a smirk. “Won’t I stand out in that rich people club? From what you told me, I assumed the ‘usual clientele’ all wore a golden Rolex.”

“A golden Rolex would be gauche. No, the truth is that the Seamaster was the easiest model to adapt. It’s not just any old watch, you know,” Q said with a wink.

Graves felt his eyes widen. “No,” he breathed.

“Yes,” she said. “You ought to be careful, 007. The alarm is rather loud, if you know what I mean.”

“You’re the best, Q,” Graves said and put on the watch.

“Thank you, but that’s nothing I didn’t know already,” she said and gave him a wide grin. “Look, you even forgot to complain about the suit.”

“The suit?” said a voice behind them.

They whirled around and came face to face with Tina Goldstein. She was dressed in a pair of cargo pants, a white tank top and a leather jacket. A bruise was fading on her cheek. The knuckles on both her hands were split and her left hand was patched up in a way that didn’t look as though she’d been to medical, but had done it herself.

Tina walked up to Q, whispered something under her breath and gave her a kiss.

Graves averted his eyes and tried to give them as much privacy as he could. He felt awkward and uncomfortable, like an intruder. The ridiculous suit he was wearing only exacerbated it.

What should he do? Clear his throat to alert them to his presence? Quietly exit the room?

The situation hurt a little, too. He had no one who’d welcome him with open arms after he got back from a mission. Usually, he was greeted by an empty apartment, an equally empty bed and the temptation of the liquor cabinet. 

(Not that he could indulge his weakness for whiskey too often, he’d be suspended from field duty if his blood values showed any irregularities in that respect.)

“Dressed to kill, Percival?” Tina remarked.

Q and she must have finished reuniting when he hadn’t been looking. He quickly recovered from his confusion. “Literally,” he replied drily.

She shrugged. “If you’d rather slum it, try working for the CIA,” she said. “They have the worst dressed agents I’ve ever seen.”

“Just because you don’t like Leiter doesn’t mean all his agents are useless,” Q said. “Percival has to look like a rich dandy for an undercover mission.”

Tina looked him up and down. “Are those  _ scorpion  _ tie pins?” she asked. “Shoulder pads, too? Very eighties of you.”

“My shoulders are that broad, thank you,” Graves muttered under his breath.

“One last thing,” Q said. “I’m field-testing a new microphone prototype. There are five hidden in the coat buttons. Whatever you hear, I hear.”

“Alright, but why does that sound like a threat?”

Q raised an eyebrow. “Did anyone ever give you the honeypot mission talk?” she asked. “If not, just remember: Fuck in your free time.”

Graves blinked. “Why do you think I’d leave the coat on?”

Tina failed spectacularly at smothering a laugh. The corners of Queenie’s mouth quirked upwards.

* * *

The rest of the briefing was finished quickly. As Graves walked towards the exit of Q branch (wearing his own clothes again, he’d only need to wear the suit in the club), he came across 009 who’d just finished speaking to M.

Albus nodded at him in greeting, but M stopped to talk to him. “007, how are you?”

“Fine, Ma’am,” he said, truthfully.

“You certainly look like you’re coming into your own,” she remarked. “And you didn’t even flinch when I used the code name, unlike last time.”

Graves took a look around. When he noticed that nobody was within earshot, he leaned in. “Thank you, Ma’am,” he said quietly. “For giving me a chance, I mean. I didn’t expect…”

“I assume you’re alluding to your reputation as a ‘troublemaker’?” she asked. “I believe in second chances, 007.”

Graves looked to the side, flustered.

“In fact,” M continued. “You remind me of a young man I once knew. He made mistakes, certainly, but that’s no reason not to start over.” Her gaze wandered in the direction of 009. It made sense, Graves supposed. After all, Albus had been personally recruited by M. “I like to think of the agents as my extended family,” M continued. “And families take care of each other. Remember that, 007.”

“I’ll do my best,” he said. M gave him one of her rare smiles and walked away. “Betsy,” he added, when he was sure she couldn’t hear him anymore.

* * *

In Berlin, Graves felt out of place at the ‘Hallow’ club. The interior designer had stuck to dark colors and the phrase “understated elegance” came to mind. An actual string quartet was providing the background music. Graves had taken one look at the menu and had been relieved that he was on a mission and thus, at least not wasting his own money.

After five minutes at the club, he thought he’d already spotted three ministers, the CEO of a defense contractor, a drug lord, two pimps and someone who looked a lot like a catholic cardinal.

He mentally prepared himself to get a drink and mingle, when a voice behind him asked, “Is it your first time?”

Graves glanced over his shoulder and felt his heart skip a beat. ‘Change of plans,’ he thought. “What makes you think this is my first time?” he asked and turned around to face the person standing behind him.

It was “Obscurus”.

“I’m here quite often,” he said. “Obscurus” spoke with an American accent. A quick glance was enough to determine that both the pressed slacks and the turtleneck pullover he was wearing were of extremely high quality. “If you’d been here before, I’m sure I would have remembered that face.”

“That could have either been a compliment or an insult,” Graves remarked. “Which one was it?”

“Obscurus” smiled provocatively. “Which one would you want it to be?”

Graves mirrored the smile on the young man’s face. “Touché, Mr…?”

“You can call me Credence,” he said. “And you are…?”

“Graves,” he said. “Percival Graves.”

“Enchanté,” Credence said. “Mr. Graves, while I would love to continue our conversation, I find I’m rather,” he broke off and looked Graves up and down. “Thirsty,” he finished. “Would you have the decency to invite me to a drink?”

Graves suppressed a chuckle, stepped a little closer to Credence and leaned in. “If I invite you to a drink, my intentions have nothing to do with decency,” he whispered into his ear.

“Good,” Credence said. “If it were any different, I would be offended. To the bar?”

“Lead the way.”

“This is a ploy so you can ogle my behind while we walk, isn’t it?” Credence said drily.

“It’s a nice behind.”

“You noticed?”

Graves stifled a laugh. He recalled Queenie’s outrage over honeypot missions. He imagined she was pulling her hair out right now. Even if he didn’t end up sleeping with Credence, he was sure the young man knew more than he was letting on. Graves intended to exploit that to the best of his abilities.

They reached the bar. The bartender asked them what they wanted to drink.

“What do we want to drink?” Graves directed the question at Credence.

“You trust me to order for you?”

“Surprise me,” Graves said in a low voice, just as the string quartet began to play a new piece.

“You look like a man who drinks Martinis. Vodka Martini, perhaps?” Credence began, obviously trying to read Graves’ expression to the best of his abilities. In turn, Graves kept his features deliberately expressionless. “No, wait,” Credence said and turned to the bartender. “Make it a  _ Dirty _ Martini.”

Against his intentions, Graves laughed.

“Now you also get to order for me,” Credence said.

“That’s easy. A bottle of Krug Grande Cuvée.”

“Champagne?” Credence asked. “Not particularly imaginative.”

“Nonsense,” Graves said. “It’s a classic. ‘In victory, you deserve it and in defeat, you need it’,” he quoted.

“Oh, and what will it be tonight?” Credence said and arched one of his eyebrows. “Victory or defeat?”

“Let me put it this way, if I get what I want from you tonight, it can’t be anything other than complete victory.”

Credence leaned closer, mirroring Graves’ move from earlier. His breath felt hot against the side of Graves’ neck and his ear. “And what is it that you want from me, exactly?” Credence whispered.

“You’ll find out,” Graves mumbled and leaned back. “Although I admit this is all extremely unplanned. You’re a good ten years younger than my usual type, you know?”

“I could say the same about you,” Credence retorted and crossed his arms in front of his chest.

Graves was saved from reacting to the statement because the bartender returned with their order. He raised his glass to Credence and suppressed a shudder as he took a sip. He didn’t like Martinis. “I hope it’s to your liking?” he asked when Credence sipped his champagne. “You know, the man who invented it said it tastes like the stars.”

“It’s okay,” Credence said. “I’ve had better.”

Graves looked bemused and took another sip of his drink.

“What are you thinking of?” Credence asked.

He shrugged. “Just made a mental note that you’re hard to please,” he explained and reached out to cup Credence’s cheek for a moment, before he pulled his hand back again. He was satisfied to note that Credence blushed a little.

Credence cleared his throat. “Yes, I’ve been told I’m high-maintenance,” he said. “My boyfriend could tell you a thing or two about it.”

“You have a boyfriend?”

Credence rolled his eyes. “I didn’t think you’d be the kind of man who’d have a problem with that. If it makes you feel better, I might have lied.”

“About not being single?”

“About other things, too.”

Graves snorted. “You really know how to make a man feel secure, don’t you?”

“I didn’t lie about wanting you, though,” Credence said, inclining his head and taking another sip of champagne. “No matter if I have a boyfriend or not.”

“If you sleep with me, isn’t that going to upset your boyfriend, who may or may not exist?” Graves asked. “Unless you’re not exclusive?”

Credence sighed and refilled his champagne glass with a nonchalant gesture. “That man’s best feature is his account balance,” he replied without meeting Graves’ eyes. Instead, he traced the fat drops of condensation that had formed on the champagne bottle. “Everything else about him I’ve found...lacking.”

“So he exists, then?” Graves asked and pretended to sip his Martini. “I take it he’s the one who’s twenty years older than you, from what you told me before?”

Credence confirmed it with a nod, but didn’t follow it up with a snappy remark, as Graves had come to expect from him. Was he suddenly feeling guilty for blatantly flirting with another man or was it something else?

“I don’t know anything about his account balance, but I can tell that he’s got impeccable taste,” Graves said.

Credence furrowed his brows. “What makes you say that?”

“Just look at you, Credence.”

His frown deepened for a moment, before he understood and his face lit up.

“Glad I could cheer you up,” Graves said.

“I’m not sure I agree with you on someone having good taste if they choose to be with me, but thank you nonetheless,” Credence said, the corners of his mouth twisting as though they were going to break out into a full smile at any moment.

“Now, that could have been a thinly veiled insult again,” Graves teased him. “Good to know you’re back to how you were before.”

“You don’t like me when I’m brooding?” Credence asked. “I suppose now it’s my time to worry about thinly veiled insults.”

“I didn’t say that,” Graves amended. “But confidence suits you. I think it’s very sexy.”

“You think I’m confident?” Credence asked, looking into his glass before taking a sip. “Interesting. Why?”

“You seem like someone who knows exactly what they want and what they have to do in order to get it.”

Credence finished his champagne. “That’s not too difficult,” he said as he set the glass down. “I don’t even have to do much. You’re the opposite of hard to get. Then again, anything other than that would have been a surprise, 007.”

Graves reflexively checked his surroundings. The other patrons were still in deep conversation, nobody was observing them. He sent a skeptical look at the Martini glass, but he didn’t feel any different than before, so he supposed that he hadn’t been poisoned. “You know who I am?”

“You’re the man who killed Leta Lestrange,” Credence said, as though they were discussing something as innocent and inconsequential as the weather.

“And you’re the man who watched me do it,” Graves retorted. “I suppose you want to take revenge?”

Credence shook his head. “Far from it,” he said. “I want to thank you.”

Graves snorted. “Am I really meant to believe that? I take it Lestrange was a member of  _ your _ organization.”

“You don’t know anything,” Credence said, shoulders slouching forward for a moment before he seemed to notice what he was doing. He pointedly squared his shoulders and stood up tall. “I assure you, I am just as happy that Leta is dead as you are. I wanted to show my gratitude, that’s all.”

“What would ‘showing your gratitude’ entail?” Graves asked.

Credence took hold of Graves’ left hand, placed it provocatively low on the small of his back and looked at him with bedroom eyes. “I’m all yours for the night,” he said. “You can do anything you want to me.”

“Really?” he said, slightly surprised. “Anything? You are aware that this could backfire easily if you make that offer to the wrong sort of person?”

Credence didn’t seem fazed. “I’m already stuck with the wrong sort of man,” he said with a shrug, a sad smile playing around his lips for a second. He quickly recovered, leaned closer to Graves and whispered, “Now I want to know what it’s like to be with the  _ right  _ sort of man.”

Graves trailed his fingers over the side of Credence’s neck. He could feel him shiver. “You think I’m the right man for you?”

The tip of Credence’s tongue darted out to wet his lips. The sight of it nearly drove Graves mad. “Let’s get out of here and find out,” Credence said. “I know a place not too far from here.”

“What, you’re not going to take me home?” Graves said, pretending to be offended.

“Even though my boyfriend might not mind me having fun with another man,” Credence said and his gaze focused on Graves’ mouth, “I don’t want to think of the consequences if I actually slept with you at his house while he’s home.”

“What’s the worst that could happen?”

Credence lowered his voice, gave him a conspiratorial wink and said: “He could ask to join us.”

That got a laugh out of Graves. “Then we’d better go to that place you suggested.”

“It’s a hotel,” Credence explained. “They have very nice suites. Comfortable beds, large bathtubs. Good room service, too.” He signaled the bartender and requested a taxi in what sounded like accent-free German.

After the bartender had left, Credence checked the champagne bottle. “There’s still about a glass left,” he said. “Do you want it? If I have more than two glasses, I’ll fall asleep in the taxi. The most you’ll get out of me then is that I’ll drool on your suit.”

Graves accepted the champagne. Secretly, he was grateful for it, since it got rid of the taste of the Martini. “I think you’d still look adorable, even when you’re drooling on my suit.”

“Thank you, but I wouldn’t want to ruin it.”

“Screw the suit,” Graves said and finished his champagne with two large gulps.

“I’d rather you screw me instead,” Credence whispered.

Graves’ mouth went completely dry, even though he’d only just drank something. “That can be arranged.”

Credence giggled and gave him a saucy look. “The taxi should be here right now.”

They got their coats from the wardrobe. As they exited the club, Credence furtively slipped his hand into Graves’. Graves smiled at him and squeezed his hand.

Credence mirrored his smile. “There’s the taxi,” he said, gesturing to a cream-colored Mercedes.

The drive to the hotel was short. Credence leaned forward and spoke to the driver in a low voice. Graves’ German wasn’t good enough to make out what he was saying, but it sounded vaguely threatening. He could only just make out Credence slipping two green Euro bills into the driver’s hand.

“What was that about?” Graves murmured as they got out of the car and walked towards the lobby of the hotel.

“Just making sure that he’s going to be discreet,” Credence answered. “I don’t want to take chances.”

They entered the lobby and Graves took in the interior design. “Fancy,” he commented. “You can get us a room in this hotel at such short notice?”

“I can even get us a suite,” Credence said. “I’ll pay, don’t worry. Britain’s taxpayer money is safe.”

“It already paid for the champagne,” Graves said. “I don’t want to sponge off you, though.”

“You better believe I’m going to have you work for that money,” Credence replied, winked at him and walked to the front desk. Graves followed him. “The name’s Grindelwald,” Credence told the receptionist.

The receptionist’s eyebrows jumped up. He fidgeted. “The usual suite?” he asked.

“Please,” Credence said insistently.

The receptionist nodded and handed him a key card. “Will you need any additional services, sir?”

“The specialty of the house, delivered to the room, please.”

“Of course, sir.” The receptionist swallowed. His eyes darted from Credence to Graves and back. “Enjoy your stay.”

“I’m sure we will,” Credence said, stepping away from the front desk and gesturing for Graves to follow him.

“What?” he asked as he stepped into the elevator alongside Credence. “No need to give our full names, no need to…”

“Hush,” Credence said and put a finger to Graves’ lips. “You ask too many questions. I’m a regular here, let’s leave it at that.”

“Okay,” Graves said and his voice was rougher than usual. “No more questions.” A part of his brain wondered how and why he’d abandoned his initial plan of interrogating Credence.

The elevator doors opened again. Credence took his hand, led him to a suite door and opened it with the key card. They entered the suite. The moment Credence had shut the door behind them, he dropped all propriety and pulled Graves close to him.

Graves leaned in and brought their lips together. Credence moaned and slipped his tongue into Graves’ mouth. Graves walked them backwards until Credence’s back hit the wall. Credence grinned against Graves’ lips when he pressed one of his strong thighs between Credence’s legs.

Credence chased after the friction and whenever Graves’ mouth wasn't covering his, he let out small mewls of pleasure which went straight to Graves’ cock.

He trailed kisses along the sensitive skin of Credence’s jaw and Credence tipped his head back, presumably to give him better access. However, the high collar of Credence’s black turtleneck pullover was in the way.

Graves reached up and pulled the fabric down to expose one side of Credence’s neck. He applied his mouth to it and sucked a mark into the pale, perfect skin. Credence moaned and the sound encouraged Graves. He pressed one last kiss to the bite mark already blooming on the younger man’s neck. Graves wanted to pull the collar on the other side of Credence’s neck down, intent on marking him there as well.

Credence hissed, tensed in Graves’ arms and turned his head away.

Graves stepped back and held up his arms in surrender. “I’m sorry,” he said immediately. “Did I hurt you?”

Credence fidgeted. “No, I’m sorry,” he said and touched the side of his neck. “I have...I have an ugly birthmark there. I didn’t want you to see it in case it turned you off. It’s stupid, I know. But I’m self-conscious and I’m worried that you wouldn’t want me anymore if you saw it.”

Graves blinked in surprise, needing a moment to take it in. “I’m sure no part of you could ever be anything other than beautiful,” he said and cupped Credence’s cheek. Credence leaned into the touch and closed his eyes.

Graves could hear some people walk in the corridor with heavy steps, laughing and talking loudly. He led Credence further into the suite, trying to give them a bit more privacy that way.

“I want you to know that I don’t care about that,” he said. “Do you know how many scars I have from missions where I got hurt?”

Credence shrugged and managed a quivering smile.

Graves suspected Credence’s less than ideal boyfriend might have used the birthmark to insult him in the past. “If anyone told you you were ugly because of the birthmark, or perhaps told you that nobody else would want you, then they’re wrong,” he said.

Credence blinked a few times and the shaky smile returned. “Percival, I like you. I really, really like you. Do you believe me?”

Graves frowned at the abrupt change of subject, but he nodded. “Of course I believe you.”

“Then please also believe me that I’m really, really sorry,” he said without meeting Graves’ eye.

“For what?”

Credence leaned in and pressed a chaste kiss to Graves’ lips. “For that,” he said.

Only a split second later, the door to the suite was kicked in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   * References to Casino Royale and Skyfall in this chapter - let me know if you caught them!
>   * The instrumental piece played by the string quartet while Credence and Graves are flirting at the bar: [The Model](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QH_VKWStK98)
>   * "two green euro bills" are 200 euros. As of February 5th, 2018, that's equivalent to 249 USD or 176 GBP
> 



	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is the first of three chapters with flashback scenes, showing how Credence met Grindelwald and came to live with him.
> 
> **Content warnings: nudity, implied violence, character getting injured, manipulative behavior, grooming**
> 
> Thank you to gothyringwald for beta-reading this chapter!

Graves slowly regained consciousness. His muscles were sore and he had a pounding headache. His eyes felt glued shut. He tried wiggling his toes and fingers and was relieved when they obeyed him.

What had happened? After Credence had apologized and kissed him one last time, the suite had been stormed by armed men. Graves had fought them off to the best of his abilities. He was sure he’d permanently incapacitated at least two of them, before one of the others had snuck up on him from behind and knocked him out.

Was he still in the suite? Unlikely, he thought. The ground underneath his hands didn’t feel like the lacquered parquet in the suite. No, it was cold concrete. Maybe he was locked in some basement room?

With a start, he realized he wasn’t alone. He could hear labored breathing coming from the other corner of the room, coupled with whimpers of fear.

He groaned and finally succeeded in opening his eyes. Now he could see that he was being held captive in what indeed looked like a windowless basement room without furniture. A pair of neon tubes bathed the room in cold white light.

Far more concerning, however, was the other person in the room with him.

It was Credence.

He was naked. His limbs were tightly tied together with duct tape. He was blindfolded and someone had gagged him using a spider gag. Credence was drooling uncontrollably, his chin was glistening wet. A piece of paper hung around Credence’s neck on a piece of string.

“Fuck,” Graves said louder than he’d intended to and got up.

Credence must have heard him, because he flinched and his breathing sped up. Graves cursed himself - Credence probably thought he was going to take his anger out on him now, for having lured Graves into a trap.

He _was_ angry, sure, but he found he wanted answers much more than he wanted revenge.

“Credence, can you hear me?” he asked as he crossed the short distance between himself and the young man with a couple of long strides. “I’m not going to hurt you, okay? Let me help you, please?”

Credence couldn’t react beyond nodding his head, once.

“Good,” Graves said. “I’m going to touch you to take the blindfold off, alright? Now, don’t be scared, here goes.” He took the blindfold off and stared right into Credence’s red-rimmed eyes. “That’s better, isn’t it?” he said. “Now, the gag.”

As he took off the gag, Graves caught sight of the side of Credence’s neck. “Birthmark, my arse,” he mumbled. On the spot where Credence had claimed to have ‘an ugly birthmark’, there was a tattoo, its black lines a stark contrast to the pallor of Credence’s skin. Graves recognized the shape in a  heartbeat. It was the same runic symbol he’d seen engraved on Leta Lestrange’s ring.

“I’m so sorry,” Credence sobbed, the moment Graves removed the spit-covered gag. “I didn’t want to deceive you, but I had to, otherwise...otherwise…”

At a complete loss for words, Graves ran a hand through Credence’s locks, slightly moist with sweat. “It’s okay,” he managed. His eyes fell to the piece of paper on the string around Credence’s neck.

_A little present_

_Let’s call it making amends_

_Have fun using him,_

_GG_

“What the…,” he mumbled, removed the paper from Credence’s neck and held it in front of him. “Any idea what this means? Who’s GG?”

Credence hiccuped. “Could you first…,” he trailed off and wiggled his body. He was still tied up.

Graves cursed. “Of course,” he said. “Sorry, I forgot.” He took a look at the bindings. “This is probably going to hurt a bit,” he said apologetically as he removed the duct tape as gently as he could.

Credence clenched his teeth and only let out a little hiss once or twice, otherwise staying completely silent.

“Move your limbs a bit, get the blood flowing,” Graves said once he’d freed Credence from all his bindings. “Are you hurt?”

“Just my pride,” Credence groaned as he stretched his body. He looked thin in an underfed, unhealthy way. His ribs were clearly visible...and he was still completely naked. It had to be chilly in the basement, because Credence had gooseflesh all over his body. Graves himself, wearing layer upon layer of exquisitely tailored fabrics courtesy of Q didn’t feel it.

He shrugged off his coat and handed it to Credence. “Here,” he said and draped it around his shoulders.

Credence shot him a grateful expression, put on the coat and buttoned it up all the way. “This is nice,” he said and ran his hands across the fabric. “Warm, too. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Graves said and went on to check the door. Locked, of course. After he examined the room a bit more and couldn’t come up with a way to escape, he decided he needed more information. He sat down next to Credence. “What happened? Any idea where we are? And what does that strange message on the piece of paper mean?”

Credence took a quivering breath and curled up into a ball. He wrapped his arms around his shins and rested his forehead on his knees for a moment. The scared boy next to Graves had little in common with the confident young man he’d flirted with at the bar. Graves reached out in an attempt to sling an arm across Credence’s shoulder, but stopped to ask him whether Credence was alright with it. Credence might have kissed Graves and spoken of wanting to sleep with him, but everything he’d said now made it sound as though Credence had only done so under duress, not out of his own free will.

Instead of giving him a verbal answer, Credence uncurled his limbs and leaned his body against Graves’ for support. After a few seconds, he began to speak again: “What’s the last thing you remember?”

“One of those thugs managed to knock me out,” Graves said, truthfully. “The next thing I know is waking up in this room with you. Where are we?”

“In the basement of Nurmengard,” Credence said. “Nurmengard is Gellert’s mansion. He’s my...my boyfriend,” he added, when he saw the look of non-comprehension on Graves’ face.

Something tugged at the back of Graves’ mind. He looked at the piece of paper again, and made the connection. “Grindelwald?” he asked. “Gellert Grindelwald?”

Credence turned to look at him with wide eyes. “How do you know?”

“At the hotel, you said the suite was for someone named Grindelwald,” Graves started to explain. “You speak English with an American accent, but Grindelwald is not a very common American name, is it? Additionally, you used the German pronunciation. Then you told me the house we’re in belongs to your ‘boyfriend’ Gellert. Last, but not least, somebody who calls himself ‘GG’ left me a note. Gellert Grindelwald. GG.”

Credence managed a weak nod.

“Not much of a boyfriend if he does this to you, is he?” Graves said and gestured to the gag, the blindfold and the discarded duct tape on the floor.

“I told you I was stuck with the wrong sort of man,” Credence replied. “In his opinion, I messed up. I was supposed to sleep with you and distract you long enough for his henchmen to take you out without a problem. Instead, most of them are wounded and three of them are in intensive care last I heard.”

“I’m a 00,” Graves said, as if that explained everything. “Still, why did he lock you up with me?”

“It was supposed to be my punishment,” Credence said, resting his head on Graves’ shoulder and putting his arms around Graves’ waist. “He said since I saw what you can do when you’re angry, I know what I have to look forward to.”

“Credence, I’m so sorry,” Graves said and started to run his fingers through Credence’s hair again. “I...I don’t even know what to say.”

He felt Credence shrug next to him. “I’m actually grateful, you know? At least...at least he didn’t...,” Credence broke off and sobbed a couple of times.

“At least he didn’t do what?” Graves asked cautiously, once Credence seemed to have regained his composure.

“At least he didn’t kill my sisters,” Credence said with a hollow voice.

“You have sisters?”

Credence nodded. “Yes, two. Chastity and Modesty...well, now they go by Cecily and Madeleine…”

“The Dearborn girls,” Graves threw in. “They’re your sisters?”

“My adoptive sisters,” Credence said. “They used to be, anyway. We grew up together in New York until I met Gellert and thought he could help me.”

“How exactly…?”

“It’s a long story,” Credence said. “I’d just bore you.”

Graves took a pointed look around the room. He didn’t have any of his weapons anymore, save for the exploding watch, but if he used it on the locked steel door in the cell, the force of the explosion would leave them both injured or worse, dead. “Not much to do around here but wait,” he said. “As it is, I’d love to hear your story.”

Credence took a deep breath and began to talk.

* * *

 

Growing up, Credence Barebone had never understood the phrase “to be like a bird in a gilded cage”. He’d been living with Mary Lou Barebone, his adoptive mother, ever since he had been four years old. Everything before that was comprised of blurry memories. As far as Credence was concerned, Ma was the only parent he’d ever truly known.

She was strict, easily angered and unforgiving. Credence bore the marks of his disobedience on the skin of his palms and his back.

Credence and his family lived in a rickety old church building which looked completely out of place in modern-day Manhattan. Privately, Credence was surprised that someone from an urban development company hadn’t yet had them evicted, knocked down the church and built an apartment complex in its stead.

Ma had a day job as an accountant and preached against the evils of modern life on the weekends. She held sermons and tried to reach out to people - in Credence’s opinion, everyone but Ma herself knew that she was a complete crackpot. After school, it was Credence’s job to hand out flyers, informing people of their meetings and teachings. These pamphlets often contained offensive propaganda which didn’t appeal to anyone but the most conservative sort of people.

Today, Ma had him stand outside the headquarters of a large bank, handing out fliers which proclaimed homosexuality to be a mortal sin and portrayed gay marriage as the devil’s work. Fliers with that particular message had increased during the last six months, as though Ma had somehow figured out how to read Credence’s mind. So far, Ma had never said anything to him, but whenever she was looking at him, something in her beady eyes suggested that she knew Credence’s gaze was exponentially more often drawn to male figures than to female ones.

Few people were interested in the fliers and the handful that had taken one had probably done so out of pity for the thin, pale boy in the secondhand clothes handing them out and not for the message on the paper.

Most of the passersby gave him looks of disdain. Credence was used to it, and had learned to keep his head down over the years. It didn’t make the people sneer at him any less, but at least he didn’t feel it quite as much.

Credence had been standing in front of the bank for nearly two hours when three men exited the building. They were all dressed in what looked like bespoke suits, however, two of the men were significantly taller and broader than the third man in the middle.

Credence thought the two tall men looked like bodyguards and the man in the middle (he was using a walking cane, even though he still seemed fairly young, not even in his forties) was the one they were protecting.

He was so caught up in his staring that he didn’t move out of the way fast enough. One of the bodyguards walked right into Credence, knocking him over. He let out a little cry as he was sent sprawling onto the floor. Unfortunately, he wasn’t quick enough to cushion his fall with his hands, and he twisted his ankle. A sharp pain shot through his whole leg and his fliers ended up scattered everywhere around him.

He tried to breathe through the pain, made an attempt to stand up again and move out of the men’s way as quickly as possible. If he didn’t get away, he was scared he’d earn himself a kick or two. However, as soon as he tried to put any weight on his foot, it gave out and he fell down again.

A shadow fell on his face. Hesitantly, Credence looked up. The man in the middle, the one with the cane, was looming over him. Between his two broad-shouldered bodyguards, he’d looked small, but now Credence could see that he was quite tall himself. If he had to guess, he’d say the man had a good two or three inches on him. His hair was of a dirty-blond color, he wore it short and his eyes were light blue. The man had some stubble on his cheek, but it didn’t look unkempt. On the contrary, it suited him quite well. Credence flushed and tried to banish that thought immediately.

“I-I’m sorry, s-sir,” he stammered.

The man’s expression softened. “Are you alright?” he asked. He had a slight accent, but Credence couldn’t place it.

Credence wanted to say he was and tried getting up again, but as soon as he shifted, his foot started to throb so much it became hard to concentrate, even with Credence’s unusually high threshold for pain. He looked into the man’s eyes, shook his head and tried to keep a neutral expression. He could feel two tears sliding down his cheeks.

“No, anyone can see that you’re not alright,” the man said. “Forgive me, it was a stupid question. You’re hurt, aren’t you?”

Credence stared up into the man’s blue eyes, transfixed like a deer caught in the headlights, waiting for the mortal impact. He timidly nodded.

“Yes, I thought so,” the man continued and turned to the bodyguards at his side. He said something to them in a language Credence couldn’t understand. Even though he addressed the two men as ‘Garavito’ and ‘Bernardo’, Credence trusted his minimal knowledge of Spanish enough to determine that it couldn’t be Spanish. It sounded harsh and, for a moment, Credence caught himself thinking that the man didn’t seem so nice anymore, now that he was no longer speaking English. The man’s helpfulness had morphed into what looked like cold-blooded determination.

Even though every trace of warmth that had been in the man’s expression and voice had disappeared as he spoke with his bodyguard, his words had an immediate effect. One of the men started picking up Credence’s scattered leaflets and the other man, the one who’d knocked him over, extended a hand down to help Credence up.

Instinctively, Credence’s eyes flitted over to the blond man in the middle and he looked at him, an unspoken question in the air between them. The atmosphere of ruthlessness left the man as quickly as it had appeared. He smiled at Credence, and Credence caught himself thinking that he could stare at that smile for hours on end and he wouldn’t get bored. He flushed bright red.

“Go on,” the man said and nodded encouragingly.

Credence needed a second to understand what the man was talking about. Eventually, he let himself be helped to his feet and, once the blond man had said it was okay for him to do so, he leaned against the bodyguard for support. The other bodyguard (Credence thought it might be the one named ‘Garavito’, but he wasn’t sure) handed him his leaflets and he accepted them with a mumbled ‘Thank you’.

“I’m very sorry that you’re unwell,” the man said. “It’s your foot that hurts, isn’t it?”

Credence grit his teeth and tried to fight against the pain in order to answer in full sentences. “It’s nothing, sir,” he said and hated how his voice shook. “Please, don’t bother on my behalf. I’m sorry, I was standing in your way…”

The man clicked his tongue. “So polite,” he remarked. “What’s your name, my boy?”

“Credence, sir,” he said. “Credence Barebone.”

“ _Cre-dence_ ,” the man repeated, slowly. “That sounds very beautiful. My name is Gellert Grindelwald.”

“Pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. Grindelwald, sir.”

“Please call me Gellert,” Mr. Grindelwald said. “That’ll do for now.”

“Sir, I could n-never,” Credence stammered. Why was he suddenly so hyper-aware of his uneven haircut and the half-healed welts on his palms? Why did he want to hide them away even more than usual, wanted to make sure Mr. Grindelwald never noticed any of his many, many flaws? And why did the weight of Mr. Grindelwald’s - Gellert’s - eyes on him feel so heavy?

“I won’t force you. If you insist on calling me ‘sir’, so be it,” Mr. Grindelwald said and winked at him.

Credence shivered all over, feeling hot and cold at the same time.

“My boy, the way I see it, I’m responsible for your injury...your injured foot, that is,” Mr. Grindelwald said and took hold of Credence’s right hand, the one not clutching the fliers. “Everyone who knows me knows that if I make a mistake, I fix it, whatever it may take.” He ran his thumb over the inside of Credence’s wrist, just over his pulsepoint.

He managed to keep his eyes from fluttering closed, but couldn’t prevent a small sound from escaping his mouth. It was a strange mixture between a sigh and a groan...In fact, it seemed frighteningly similar to the muffled sounds he made when he took himself in hand late, late at night, always after a moment of blasphemy in which he prayed Ma wouldn’t find out he was weak-willed and sinful like that.

Blood rushed into his cheeks. Why was he feeling that way? He’d only just met Mr. Grindelwald and while, yes, the man was good-looking, he was twenty years older than Credence and there was no way he’d even be interested in him…

It was just a stupid crush, Credence told himself. Nothing but a stupid schoolboy crush, because Mr. Grindelwald had been so nice to him, had treated Credence as though he _mattered_ when hardly any people ever did. Was he really so touch-starved that a few kind words and caresses - no, not caresses, just simple, innocent touches - were enough to make him develop a crush?

It wasn’t surprising, considering the harsh environment he’d grown up in, but it still filled him with shame how easily he started to fall apart.

“Hm,” Mr. Grindelwald said and it pulled Credence out of his thoughts. “That’s no product of the fall,” Mr. Grindelwald continued.

Credence looked down and saw that Mr. Grindelwald was tracing the welts on his palm. His fingers were hovering only a fraction of an inch over Credence’s skin, but he never actually touched any of the angry red marks.

He made a half-hearted attempt at pulling back his hands, but Mr. Grindelwald looked him in the eyes and Credence felt as though his gaze pinned him down and kept him from making even a single move without Mr. Grindelwald’s permission. He had the sort of authority Ma could only dream of and he didn’t even need to use violence to have people do his bidding. A few carefully chosen words and a look of intent was enough to have two strong men like Garavito and Bernardo follow his orders.

“Credence, my boy, look at me,” Mr. Grindelwald said, putting two fingers under Credence’s chin and gently lifting it up. “I want you to tell me who hurt you like that,” he said quietly, but firmly. “Tell me who did this and I will...find a way to fix it.”

Credence blinked back tears. “I can’t,” he whispered.

Mr. Grindelwald frowned. “Credence, I want to help you, I really do,” he said. “But I need your permission. Do you trust me to help you?”

His foot throbbed and even just thinking of trying to walk home, injured as he was, filled Credence with dread. He thought of Ma, demanding he take off his belt and hand it over to her so she could administer his punishment for being stupid enough to get hurt like that. What did he have to lose?

Slowly, Credence nodded. “I trust you, sir,” he said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   * Grindelwald's bodyguards, Garavito and Bernardo, are named after real-life criminals. I though, hey, if the Bond movies can pull that trick with household names like Gogol and Pushkin, I can get a little creative, too.
>   * Gellert's mansion Nurmengard is located on an island in Berlin called [Schwanenwerder](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Schwanenwerder)
> 



	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks to gothyringwald for taking the time to beta-read this chapter!
> 
> **content warnings for this chapter: canon-typical child abuse (it's Mary Lou Barebone), grooming**

After Credence had said that he trusted Mr. Grindelwald, the blond man’s features lit up and he quietly said something to his bodyguards.

Bernardo furrowed his brows. “So Operation Jamaica…?” he began skeptically.

“Operation Jamaica will not take place,” Mr. Grindelwald interrupted him. “What did you think we were going to do? Leave Credence all alone with a foot he can’t put any weight on, much less walk home on?”

Bernardo seemed intimidated and didn’t reply.

Credence frowned, too. “What  _ are _ you planning to do, sir?”

“I’m going to take you to a doctor,” Mr. Grindelwald said, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

Credence’s breath hitched. “That’s...I don’t have...it’s not that bad…,” he stammered. “Sir, I don’t have the money and my mother...she would never pay…”

Mr. Grindelwald caressed the side of Credence’s neck. “Sh,” he hushed him and called him something Credence didn’t understand. It sounded like  _ leeb-ling _ to his ears. “I forgot you Americans are a bit backwards when it comes to healthcare. No offense.”

Credence could only shrug. He knew too little about politics to have an opinion on it. The only thing he knew for sure was that he couldn’t afford to go to the doctor for any of his injuries, because Ma would be furious if he did and his little sisters would pay the price.

“You don’t have to worry about the money,” Mr. Grindelwald said. “I feel responsible for your injury and I will do everything in my power to fix it. Pardon me, but I’m not a poor man. Getting a doctor to take care of your foot is hardly going to leave a dent in my bank account,” he said with a slightly smug undertone.

Credence opened his mouth to say something in reply, but couldn’t find the right words. This elegant, confident man was so preoccupied with having hurt Credence that he was going to pay for a visit to the ER?

“Of course you can say no,” Mr. Grindelwald said as he sensed Credence’s hesitation. “But I don’t think you will. I mean, what would you do with a foot like that?”

Credence looked down at the ground and leaned heavily into the bodyguard. The man was probably already tired of supporting Credence’s weight. “Yes, I...I think it’s for the best, but only if it’s really not a bother, sir.”

“No, it’s not. I’ll take you to a doctor I personally know and trust. In fact, I think my organization is her only customer,” Mr. Grindelwald said. “She’s very, very good at what she does and you’ll be in the best hands, trust me.”

The bodyguard started walking him towards a black Mercedes sedan. Mr. Grindelwald walked beside them, using his cane. “You know, Credence, I was kneecapped twenty years ago. I didn’t get the proper treatment right away and it affects me to this day. I’ve lost count of how many surgeries I had performed on my knee and it’s still painful and stiff. I don’t want you to have to suffer because of your foot the way I do.”

Garavito helped Credence into the waiting car, while Bernardo handed him his school bag and his leaflets before he took the driver’s seat.

Mr. Grindelwald settled down beside him on the backseat. The car started to pull into traffic, while  Mr. Grindelwald started to talk to his bodyguards in another language. Once again, Credence had the odd sensation that Mr. Grindelwald became another person when he switched languages. A person more focused on business and much less empathic. Or perhaps, a little voice in his head whispered, it’s not about the languages at all. Perhaps he’s just a lot nicer when he’s talking to you because he likes you.

‘Shut up,’ Credence thought with all his might and hoped he wasn’t blushing. Still, his mind continued to conjure up stupid scenarios, in which Mr. Grindelwald said that he found Credence endearing and lovely, each one more improbable than the previous one.

Mr. Grindelwald finished speaking with the bodyguards and Credence took a deep breath to compose himself. It was nothing but a silly crush, born out of his own desperation and because usually nobody was as nice to him as Mr. Grindelwald had been.

“How old are you, by the way?” Mr. Grindelwald asked.

“Sixteen, sir,” Credence said.

“Oh, I remember when I was that age,” Mr. Grindelwald chuckled. “Good times. Of course, I got expelled from school just a year later, so I’m probably not a good role model.”

“Why did you get expelled, sir?”

“I went to a very conservative boarding school in Germany. Boys only. They called it ‘grossly inappropriate behavior’, let’s leave it at that,” Mr. Grindelwald said with a wink.

What would count as grossly inappropriate behavior at a conservative school that only admitted boys? Credence’s eyes fell to the leaflets in his hand, rallying against gay marriage. “Oh,” he said quietly.

Mr. Grindelwald followed Credence’s gaze. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I forgot what you are advocating for.”

“No!” Credence interrupted him. “My mother decides what to put on the leaflets, I just hand them out,” he added quickly.

“Indeed?” Mr. Grindelwald raised an eyebrow, curious. “So you don’t agree with the message on the leaflets?”

“No, not at all,” Credence said. “Quite the opposite, actually, since I think I’m…,” he broke off and realized that he had just talked himself into a corner.

Mr. Grindelwald’s smile widened. “It’s alright, Credence,” he said. “You don’t have to say anything else, I completely understand you. Living with people who just don’t  _ get  _ what it’s like to be different is difficult. I know that from personal experience.”

The driver said something to Mr. Grindelwald.

“I’m sorry, Credence. I would love to say more, but we’re already here,” Mr. Grindelwald told him. “Getting your foot fixed is our top priority at the moment, we’ve got time for everything else afterwards.”

This revelation left Credence in a daze and, later on, he could not recall a lot more than the vaguest, haziest memories of the visit at the doctor. He recalled the doctor’s name, Dr. Cadeau, and that the examination had seemed rather long and overly thorough. Still, that could have been a by-product of Mr. Grindelwald saying he’d pay for the visit - maybe it was that way when you had money?

Dr. Cadeau had not said anything when she’d seen the welts on Credence’s hands, but had cleaned the wounds, rubbed some healing ointment on them and wrapped them up with gauze.

After an X-ray, the doctor told him that Credence was lucky, his ankle was only broken in one place and wouldn’t require surgery. She put his foot in a clunky walking boot. She also gave him a pair of crutches and showed him how to walk with them.

When Credence mentioned that a large part of his household chores was handing out leaflets on the street for his mother’s organization, Dr. Cadeau shook her head with a sad smile and told him that he would not be allowed to do so for at least a couple of weeks, if not months. “You have to get as much rest as you can,” she said, her light French accent sounding like music to Credence’s ears. She handed him a business card. “Here,” she said. “If your mother has a problem with that, she should call me. And if you notice any irregularities with your foot, you need to come see me.”

All in all, it had probably been the most relaxing doctor’s visit Credence had ever been to. When he was finally allowed to leave her office, he discovered that Mr. Grindelwald and his bodyguards were still waiting for him.

Mr. Grindelwald smiled at him. “Are you feeling a bit better?” he asked him.

Credence smiled bashfully and nodded.

“Garavito will accompany you to the car,” Mr. Grindelwald said. “I need to talk to Isabelle for a moment.”

Credence frowned. “Who’s Isabelle?”

“Isabelle is my first name,” Dr. Cadeau explained. “Gellert and I have known each other for a long time. I dare say we are friends.”

Mr. Grindelwald’s smile turned roguish for a moment. “And that’s why you exploit every opportunity to lecture me about my knee, don’t you?”

Dr. Cadeau laughed, a deep, throaty laugh and said something in a language that Credence was reasonably sure was French. To his surprise, Mr. Grindelwald replied without hesitation. How many languages did the man speak?

Before Credence could wonder more about the mystery that was Mr. Grindelwald, Garavito cleared his throat and Credence started to slowly make his way towards the elevator. Putting weight on his injured foot caused him pain, but it was nothing in comparison to getting belted.

In the elevator, Credence had the odd sensation that Garavito was scrutinizing him. Was he judging him? It would make sense - he probably asked himself why his boss had decided to pick up a stray like Credence, what he had seen in a meek boy like him. It didn’t make sense to Credence either, but perhaps that was just because he was so unused to kindness from even the people closest to him, like his adoptive mother, that even small acts of kindness from strangers seemed extraordinary to him.

Back in the car, Credence took a moment to run his fingers over the fine leather seats of the Mercedes. He’d never thought he’d find himself sitting in such a fine car - it was elegant without coming across as overly boastful. Mr. Grindelwald had to be very wealthy to afford it, he mused.

After about ten minutes of waiting, Mr. Grindelwald returned to the car. Bernardo was carrying a folder under his arm, Credence noticed. Maybe Dr. Cadeau had given Mr. Grindelwald a list of rules he ought to follow in order to not aggravate his knee? Credence thought of Dr. Cadeau putting on a stern face and trying to lecture Mr. Grindelwald. The corners of his mouth lifted upwards.

“Enjoying yourself?” Mr. Grindelwald asked jovially, as he joined Credence in the backseat of the car.

“It was nothing, sir,” Credence was quick to reply. “Thank you for taking me to see a doctor.”

“That’s basic human decency, my boy,” Mr. Grindelwald said. “Now,” he continued, checking his watch. “When do you need to be home? If you have the time to spare, I know a lovely German-style coffeehouse not far from here…”

Credence knew he ought to have declined the offer and insist on being driven home, since he did  _ not _ have the time to get coffee and sweets. However, Credence was weak and twenty minutes later, he sat at a small table in a corner of a coffeehouse, a steaming cup of coffee and an enormous slice of chocolate cake in front of him.

“Eat up,” Mr. Grindelwald encouraged him.

“Aren’t you going to eat cake, too?” Credence asked.

“I’m not hungry,” Mr. Grindelwald said. “Well, not for cake, that is,” he added with a wink, as though he’d just made a joke.

Even though he didn’t understand what should have been funny, Credence smiled in order to not come across as impolite or ungrateful. “If you say so, sir,” he said, before lifting the first forkful of chocolate cake to his mouth. It tasted heavenly and Credence unwittingly let out a noise that came quite close to indecency, judging by the vaguely offended looks the other patrons gave him.

Garavito and Bernardo, seated at another table, kept their stony expressions. Mr. Grindelwald seemed intrigued and leaned forward, towards Credence. “Do you like it?”

“It’s very good,” Credence said. If he was honest with himself, he didn’t think he’d ever eaten anything that tasted quite as good as this slice of cake.

“It’s a specialty from Vienna,” Mr. Grindelwald explained. “I’m not too fond of the city, but the cuisine is excellent.”

“Why don’t you like the city?”

“The Viennese are terribly rude,” he said. “The city itself would be quite beautiful, but the inhabitants ruin it.”

“I’m sorry,” Credence said and speared another piece of the cake with his fork.

“But enough about me and my opinions,” Mr. Grindelwald said and took a sip of his coffee. “While Dr. Cadeau was taking care of your injuries, I had a good look at those pamphlets you were handing out. Judging by the content, your mother is not a particularly nice person, is she?”

Credence opened his mouth to deny the accusation, to twist Mr. Grindelwald’s words into a euphemism, but nothing came out. “She’s not,” he said eventually, dropping his gaze.

“Would you mind telling me more about her?” Mr. Grindelwald asked.

Haltingly, Credence started to speak about Ma and what she thought constituted a good upbringing. After a long while - Credence’s coffee had gone cold - he even admitted to Mr. Grindelwald that his adoptive mother was physically abusive and held up his bandaged hands. “She...she’s very quick to dish out punishments,” Credence whispered. “The belt is her favorite.”

“You poor boy,” Mr. Grindelwald said. “You deserve so much better,  _ leeb-ling _ .”

“It’s alright,” Credence mumbled. “I can take the punishments, as long as she doesn’t hurt my sisters…”

If Mr. Grindelwald had come across as invested before, it had been nothing compared to his expression now. “You have sisters?”

“Yes, two,” he said. “They’re both younger than I am and...Ma focuses on me, you see, so if I can protect them by taking the blame for things they’ve done…”

“You don’t want them to get hurt,” Mr. Grindelwald concluded. “You’re a good brother, Credence, thinking of your sisters’ well-being like that.”

Credence shrugged helplessly. “They’re everything I have.”

“Tell me about them,  _ leeb-ling _ .”

So Credence began to tell Mr. Grindelwald about his sisters.

Modesty, his youngest sister, was four years old. She had been adopted just a year ago and had a very hard time learning how to live with Ma. Credence tried to help her learn the rules to the best of his abilities, so she wouldn’t risk being sent to bed without dinner or, infinitely worse, locked into the dark and dingy cellar of the church building they called home for hours on end - the kind of punishment Ma had favored when Credence had been Modesty’s age.

Chastity was ten years old and, over the course of the last year, had adopted an attitude of total obedience to all of Ma’s rules in the hope of avoiding punishment. Credence had once told her that Ma had started to use the belt on him when he was ten, and Chastity presumably thought she could avoid a similar fate by adhering to all of Ma’s arbitrary rules.

Credence didn’t think she was going to be successful in the long run, but he wished with all his might that neither of the girls would ever have to face the full wrath of Mary Lou Barebone. If that meant stepping in and taking the blame for each and every kind of offense, at the risk of getting beaten bloody, so be it.

“I’m impressed,” Mr. Grindelwald said after Credence had finished.

Credence blinked in surprise. He would have never thought to call the situation in which he was living “impressive”. Pathetic, perhaps. Embarrassing, sure. But impressive?

“It takes a very strong person to make it through an ordeal like that,” the older man said. “It shows that you’re protective of the people you care about and the fact that you take punishments for them means that you have a high sense of self-sacrifice.”

“I never thought about it like that,” Credence mumbled, astonished. “I guess you’re right.”

“Just like we may be blind to our biggest flaws, we can also be blind to the character traits which make up our biggest assets,” Mr. Grindelwald explained. “In that case, it’s always good to meet someone who helps you realize your true potential.”

Credence didn’t know what to say in response that.

Mr. Grindelwald said something to Bernardo, who produced a ballpoint pen and handed it to Mr. Grindelwald. “Here,” he said, writing down a phone number on a napkin and handing it to Credence. “I want to preface this by saying that you absolutely don’t have to take advantage of the offer I’m making you, but please know that if you ever need help with regards to your mother, you can call me anytime and when I say anytime, I mean it.”

“H-help?” Credence stuttered, confused.

Mr. Grindelwald looked him right in the eyes. “You and your sisters don’t need to keep living with your mother if you don’t want to,” he said. “I know this is extremely forward and you’ll need time to think about it, but...well, I just wanted to let you know that I can help you.”

Credence stared at the napkin in his hands, the numbers of Mr. Grindelwald’s phone number a stark contrast to the cream colored cloth. “Why would you help me?”

“You’re a good boy, Credence,” he said. “Like I said, you deserve so much better and I would love to help you if you let me.”

After Mr. Grindelwald had dropped Credence off at home, Credence slowly made his way to the front door. It was still difficult to walk with the clunky boot and the crutches. The stairs up to his room were going to be a large problem, he could already tell.

Credence hadn’t yet finished closing the door behind himself, when he could already hear Ma’s deceptively calm voice ask, “Where have you been?”

“I’m sorry, Ma,” he said automatically.

She stepped closer to him and crossed her arms in front of her chest. “You didn’t answer my question,” she said. Her vulture-like gaze focused on the crutches and the walking boot. “What did you do?”

Credence told her what had happened, although he left out the fact that Mr. Grindelwald had invited him to coffee and cake. At best, she’d scold him for accepting the offer and remind him that gluttony was a sin, at worst, she’d think Mr. Grindelwald had been trying to get into Credence’s good graces to seduce him later on, or something equally as ridiculous and impossible as that.

“People don’t have any compassion these days,” she sneered. “Why would he help you? What did you have to…”

“‘But a certain Samaritan, as he journeyed, came where he was: and when he saw him, he had compassion on him’,” Credence quoted. “I’m sure the man thought it was the Christian thing to do when he helped me.”

Ma looked unconvinced. “Perhaps,” she said slowly. “And he said he’d pay for all visits to the doctor?”

Credence assured her that, yes, Mr. Grindelwald had promised to cover the costs. That seemed to calm Ma down and Credence breathed a little easier.

“It was about time you came home,” Ma continued. “Chastity needs help with her homework.”

Credence bit his tongue to keep himself from pointing out that Ma was just as qualified as he was when it came to helping a ten-year-old with her homework and if she wasn’t prepared to spend time with her children, maybe she shouldn’t have adopted them in the first place. He inhaled, held his breath for five seconds and slowly exhaled. “Of course,” he said and slowly hobbled further into the apartment to see what Chastity needed help with.

The next few days were tense, but Ma accepted that Credence wouldn’t be able to hand out leaflets after school for at least a couple of weeks. She also hadn’t punished him - probably because she was scared Dr. Cadeau would notice that Credence was being mistreated if he showed up with suspicious-looking wounds at his next scheduled check-up.

Credence himself had a hard time thinking about anything other than the napkin with Mr. Grindelwald’s phone number on it. Calling him was tempting, for sure, but Ma hadn’t been quite as bad as usual these last few days and she hadn’t been violent. Maybe, Credence thought, things were looking up and he didn’t need to bother Mr. Grindelwald after all.

His hopes were crushed just days afterwards.

Credence had come home later than usual, having stayed at school to finish up a project. The moment he entered the church, he could sense that something was very, very wrong.

Ma was nowhere to be found, and Credence started to feel concerned until he remembered that she had a meeting with someone from a newspaper today.

That explained Ma’s absence, but where were his sisters?

Credence got an awful feeling, hobbled towards the cellar door, unlocked it and threw it open.

His sisters were grateful to be let out of the cellar and Credence almost smiled in relief, until he caught sight of Chastity’s bloody palms.

Ma had used the belt on her.

Fighting against his anger and desperation, Credence dried his sisters’ tears and cleaned and bandaged Chastity’s wounds. For a moment, he was even tempted to take her to see Dr. Cadeau, but he remembered that he had another, better option.

At night, after Ma had gone to bed, Credence fished the napkin out of its hiding place. With shaking fingers, he dialed the number.

“ _ Ja? _ ” Mr. Grindelwald said as he answered the phone.

“It’s Credence Barebone, sir,” Credence whispered, scared of waking Ma if he spoke any louder. The meeting with the newspaper executive had not been successful and she had not been amused to find out that Credence had let his sisters out of the cellar while she’d been away. He’d earned himself a resounding slap in the face and had been sent to bed without dinner.

“Credence, how lovely...have you made up your mind?”

“Yes,” Credence replied. “I need your help, sir.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   * "Operation Jamaica" is a tongue-in-cheek reference to the failed negotiations with regards to forming a potential "Jamaica"-coalition in Germany following the 2017 election. Christian Lindner, my face-cast for Grindelwald in this fic, is responsible for the failure of the talks. Here's an article about the topic, if you're interested: [Christian Lindner - The coalition killer](http://www.dw.com/en/the-fdps-christian-lindner-the-coalition-killer/a-38629508) (was wäre das auf Deutsch, btw? Der Koalitionsmörder? Klingt so, als könnte es ein Filmfall bei Aktenzeichen XY sein.)
>   * Dr. Isabelle Cadeau is a reference to Wonder Woman's Isabel Maru aka Dr. Poison - "cadeau" is French for "gift", which, in turn, is German for "poison". Can you tell I'm a language nerd?
>   * The cake Grindelwald buys for Credence at the cafe is called [Sacher-Torte](https://www.sacher.com/en/original-sacher-cake/), which is indeed a specialty from Vienna. No idea if you can get it in New York, but hey, this is fanfiction.
>   * Credence quotes the parable of the good samaritan.
> 



	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, a huge thank you to gothyringwald for beta-reading this chapter!
> 
> **content warnings for this chapter: grooming, minor character death**

Credence had left New York City four weeks ago and he’d been living at Mr. Grindelwald’s Berlin mansion ever since. The mansion was called Nurmengard and it was situated on an island. Only a single road connected Nurmengard to the mainland.

The house had every luxury Credence had ever dreamed of. He was grateful for being allowed to live there, he really was - his alternative would have been staying with his abusive adoptive mother.

After Credence had called Mr. Grindelwald and asked for his help, everything had happened in a blur. The next morning, after Ma had left for work, Mr. Grindelwald and a few intimidating-looking people he’d introduced as his employees had shown up at the church. The girls had been a little frightened at first, but Credence had explained that Mr. Grindelwald was a friend who was going to help them.

They packed their belongings and left the church before Ma returned home from work. For a couple of days, they stayed at a spacious apartment, constantly in the company of at least two bodyguards for their personal safety. Once Mr. Grindelwald had gotten them valid passports - when Credence had asked him how he managed that, he’d only said that certain people owed him some favors - Mr. Grindelwald, Credence and his sisters had boarded an intercontinental flight headed to Germany.

Mr. Grindelwald had assured Credence that he need not preoccupy himself with any of the legal details, he would take care of any issue that might arise and make sure Mary Lou Barebone had no choice but to accept the disappearance of her adoptive children.

So far, Mr. Grindelwald had taken a lot of time off work to show Credence and his sisters the city. He’d also promised Credence that he would look for an adoptive family to take him and his sisters in.

Presently, Credence was listlessly picking at his breakfast. The pancakes prepared by the chef were as sumptuous as ever, but today, everything tasted like ashes, because Mr. Grindelwald had fulfilled his promise...to a certain extent.

With the help of his British aunt, Mr. Grindelwald had found an excellent adoptive family, however, they’d only been willing to take in the girls. Credence had been devastated when he heard the news if not exactly surprised. He’d known it would be difficult to find a family who’d take all three of them and the girls were much less damaged than he was, it was just a fact.

Mr. Grindelwald had apologized profusely and said he would look for another family if Credence wanted him to do so, but he didn’t think he’d find another one nearly as good as them. “The Dearborns are a couple who can’t have children,” Mr. Grindelwald had said. “Members of the British upper class, you know? They’re very wealthy and have excellent connections.”

After he’d thought about it for a few hours, Credence had said that, no, if the girls wanted to live with that family, he wouldn’t stand in their way. They deserved a chance to grow up in a loving family and Mr. Grindelwald had assured Credence that he would be able to visit his sisters, so he wouldn’t completely lose contact with them.

Yesterday, the girls had left for London. Credence had ended up crying himself to sleep that night.

He poked his pancakes, which had gone cold by now.

“Is it not to your liking?” Mr. Grindelwald asked from behind him.

Credence flinched and turned around. He hadn’t heard the man come in. He really should pay more attention to his surroundings. “I miss my sisters,” he whispered.

“Of course you do,” Mr. Grindelwald said and nodded. “You love them, after all. It’s only natural for you to miss them.”

Credence sighed.

“Come on, Credence, get up, let’s take a walk in the park,” Mr. Grindelwald suggested.

Credence gave him a wary look. “A walk?” he asked, gesturing to Mr. Grindelwald’s walking cane and his own crutches.

“I may be using a cane but I’m not invalid and you should use your foot more anyway,” he said. “A bit of exercise and you’ll feel better immediately, trust me, my boy.”

Still a bit skeptical, Credence put down his fork. Together with Mr. Grindelwald, he slowly made his way out of the mansion and followed one of the gravel paths through the beautifully maintained park, which encompassed the whole island.

“You know, my boy, I don’t think you’re only feeling down because your sisters were adopted,” Mr. Grindelwald said once they’d reached the riverbank. “You’re also worried about what’s going to happen to you, aren’t you?”

“Yes, sir,” Credence admitted. “Like you said, who would take in someone like me?”

Mr. Grindelwald seemed to hesitate for a few seconds, before he said, “You could stay with me if you want to. I quite like having you around, you know.”

Credence stared at him for a few moments, incredulous. “I could stay?” he squeaked. “Here?” he added and gestured to the surrounding park.

“Where else?” Mr. Grindelwald asked, amusement evident in the laughter lines around his eyes. “You’d have to learn German, of course, but I can find you a tutor for that. It’s not that difficult, and you’d have me to practice with…”

Mr. Grindelwald continued to speak about tutoring, school, even university until Credence’s head reeled with all the possibilities. For the last ten minutes or so, he hadn’t contributed anything to the conversation except for the occasional “uh”.

“I’m sorry, Credence, where are my manners?” Mr. Grindelwald said once he’d realized that Credence was no longer actively participating in their talk. “That must have been overwhelming, right?”

“Uh…”

“My apologies, I got carried away. Here, let me show you something else,” he said and gestured for Credence to follow him. Mr. Grindelwald led him down a new path, one Credence hadn’t seen before since it was well hidden behind a couple of rose bushes. They followed it for five minutes until they came to a clearing. At the center of the clearing, there was a statue carved out of white marble. In front of the statue, there was a bench.

“I don’t know about you,” Mr. Grindelwald began. “But I could do with a little rest,” he added and sat down.

Credence looked closer at the white marble statue. It showed two scantily dressed people, a man, and a woman. The man had very well-developed muscles and a long, curly beard. He was on the verge of throwing the woman over his shoulder, or at least it seemed that way to Credence. She looked distressed like she hated that the man was touching her. Looking at it made Credence feel uncomfortable.

“Sir, what’s the meaning of this statue?” he asked timidly.

“It’s called ‘The Rape of Persephone’,” Mr. Grindelwald explained cheerfully. “I commissioned it a couple of years ago.”

Credence’s eyes widened and he grimaced. Why would anyone want to have such a statue standing in their garden?

“I think the more accurate title would be ‘The Abduction of Persephone’,” Mr. Grindelwald said, as soon as he noticed Credence’s expression. “Have you heard the story of Persephone and Hades?”

Credence shook his head. It didn’t ring a bell.

“It’s a story from Greek mythology,” Mr. Grindelwald said. “The woman is Persephone, the daughter of Demeter, who is the goddess of harvest. No goddess was more beautiful than Persephone. All the gods were in love with her. The man is Hades, the god of the underworld. He, too, was in love with beautiful, young Persephone and intended to make her his wife. One day, when Persephone was out picking flowers, he abducted her and took her with him to the underworld, where he intended for her to become his queen. Persephone’s mother, Demeter, was so devastated by the loss of her daughter, that she neglected her duties. The plants didn’t grow anymore because Demeter was so upset. Seeing this development, Zeus, king of the gods, negotiated that Persephone would be allowed to spend nine months of the year with her mother, but the remaining three months she would have to spend with her husband in the underworld. Those three months, in which Persephone is separated from her mother, are the winter months. Nothing grows in nature because Demeter is once again mourning the loss of her daughter.”

“Oh,” Credence said quietly. “That’s not a very happy story, is it?”

“I suppose not,” Mr. Grindelwald said. “But it’s not the only version of the myth,” he continued. “Let me tell you another one: Demeter, the goddess of harvest, had a daughter, Persephone. As Persephone grew into a young woman, it became apparent that her beauty and grace eclipsed all the other goddesses. Knowing the gods would start to come after her daughter, Demeter hid Persephone away and told her that the world was a wicked, sinful place. If Persephone dared to question her mother’s claims, Demeter punished her for it.”

Mr. Grindelwald paused and pointedly looked towards Credence’s hands.

“Although Demeter thought her misguided actions were the best for her child, she only succeeded in making Persephone resent her mother and crave freedom more and more with each day,” he continued. “One fateful day, when Persephone was out picking flowers, she met Hades, the god of the underworld. Hades was bewitched by Persephone’s beauty. Persephone also thought that Hades was attractive. They fell in love with each other and, in order to be able to be together, they hatched a plan and made it look as though Hades had abducted an unwilling Persephone, when, in reality, she could not have been happier about the events. She could be with the man she loved and was finally free from her mother’s influence.”

Credence blinked in surprise. It would never have occurred to him to view the statue in that light. Now that he thought about it, didn’t Persephone’s distress look a little too theatrical? Didn’t the hand with which she pushed Hades away seem more playful than a gesture of real self-defence? Wasn’t there the slightest hint of a smug smile on her delicate features?

Credence licked his lips. “Sir, there’s something I don’t understand...which version of the myth is true?” he asked.

Mr. Grindelwald shrugged. “That is up for you to decide,” he said. “The interesting thing about mythology is that all versions of the story are equally true, depending how you look at it. Does that make sense to you?”

It didn’t, but Credence nodded anyway.

“You know, I just thought of another possible version,” Mr. Grindelwald said, putting his arm around Credence. His hand came to rest on Credence’s waist. Credence froze, too perplexed to say anything. “Maybe Persephone was not in love with Hades and he was only a means to an end for her. A possibility to escape from her cruel mother’s clutches at last. However, after a little time spent in the underworld, she realized that she’d vastly underestimated Hades’ power and eventually had no other choice but to accept her new life at his side,” Mr. Grindelwald said, squeezing Credence’s waist so hard that it started to hurt, clearly mirroring the way Hades’ fingers dug into Persephone’s waist.

Credence forgot to breathe. Staring into the wide, unseeing eyes of Persephone, Credence started to feel like trusting Mr. Grindelwald had been a huge mistake.

* * *

 

Credence paused to take a couple of deep breaths and wipe his eyes. He sat up straight and appeared to be more determined than before. “After that, Gellert started to show his true colors,” Credence sighed.

“You mean…?”

“He told me he’d hurt or even kill my sisters if I didn’t do everything he wanted,” Credence confessed with a grimace. “It’s mostly sex. He gets off on seeing how much I don’t want it. He...he likes to taunt me, too. I can say no anytime, he says, but if I say no, he’d have them hurt and killed. I love them too much. I’d rather it’s me than them, and so I end up saying yes every time even though I hate it. I hate myself. I hate _him_ for doing this to me, I…,” he broke off and angrily wiped his eyes. His expression became determined. “If you kill him,” he said and slowly started to undo the buttons of the coat he was wearing, revealing his bare chest and stomach, “I’ll do anything you want.”

“Stop,” Graves said.

Credence’s fingers stilled over the next button. “So you don’t want me anymore?” he asked, sounding surprisingly dejected.

“I didn’t say that I don’t want you,” Graves answered, choosing his words very carefully. “But you should know that it’s my job, and I don’t expect any favors, sexual or otherwise, for doing my job.”

Credence gave him a long, inquisitive look. To Graves, it seemed as though Credence was disappointed that he could not find any vestiges of desire left, but those emotions would have been entirely misplaced in a situation like theirs. “I see,” Credence whispered, but didn’t close the buttons just yet. “What if it’s not a favor? What if I want you to fuck me?”

Graves shook his head, resolutely not looking at Credence’s bare upper body. “It’s not that I don’t think you’re attractive,” he said. “But mixing any kind of emotion, especially romantic emotions with the job...Credence, that would be a recipe for disaster.”

Credence looked surprised for a moment, but covered it up within seconds. “Are you sure it’s not because…,” he trailed off, vaguely gesturing to the tattoo on his neck.

“Very sure,” Graves mumbled, taking another look at the tattoo. “Let me guess, you didn’t get that tattoo voluntarily.”

Credence shook his head and buttoned up the coat. “Gellert thought it would be more permanent than a wedding ring,” he confessed. “Right after the ceremony, he drove me to a tattoo studio.”

It took a moment for the meaning of the statement to sink in. “He made you marry him?”

“I was twenty,” Credence said. “I said he was my boyfriend because that makes it sound like I could walk away anytime I wanted,” he clarified. “I think he just did it to mock me, because I was handing out fliers against gay marriage when he met me. It was a farce and the registrar kept sending me skeptical looks throughout the whole thing,” Credence trailed off. “Of course, he’d just been through a very stressful time and perhaps making me go through a marriage ceremony was his idea of fun…”

Graves raised a questioning eyebrow.

“Some of his underlings tried to take control of Gellert’s organization,” Credence explained. “They tried to kill him, but failed. He got a bit paranoid after that and purged his staff of anyone he thought was associated with the conspirators. Of course, he never got the one who was _really_ responsible, but thankfully he thinks he did.”

“You know who started the conspiracy?”

Credence looked at him. “I did,” he admitted and his lips twitched into a smug grin for a second.

Graves eyes widened. “You started an intrigue among his underlings?” he asked, incredulously. “How?” Up to now, Credence had seemed like a complete victim to him, who had to indulge his boyfriend’s - or more accurately, his husband’s - every whim.

Credence pouted. “I don’t have a lot of options when it comes to fighting back and it was worth a shot,” he said tartly.

“No, I meant, how did you accomplish that?” Graves corrected himself.

“A lot of the people working for Gellert are narcissistic,” Credence explained. “They’re convinced they’re above everyone else and that the laws don’t apply to them.”

“So they’re psychopaths,” Graves commented.

“Exactly. Gellert is the worst of them all, of course, but he managed to make them work for him by selling them their kowtowing as freedom,” Credence explained. “His network operates in over thirty countries and he’s involved in just about everything from white-collar crime to human trafficking.”

“That’s impossible,” Graves threw in. “If he’s such a big fish, MI6 would know about him.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” Credence said. “Gellert has lots of friends in influential positions.”

“Are you implying…?”

Credence held up a hand to silence him. “Like I said, he’s involved in just about every crime imaginable,” he said. “All I did was suggest to some of his more susceptible and aggressive henchmen that he was playing a trick on them. I don’t think they even realized that I was manipulating them, but they did what I wanted them to do.”

Graves swallowed. “That’s both disturbing and impressive.”

Credence shrugged. “You try living with Gellert, you’ll pick up some tricks as well. Of course, it helps that he thinks he broke me long ago, that I don’t have the brains to think of a plan like that.”

Graves blinked. “You tried a similar thing with me just now, didn’t you?” he asked. “When you offered to sleep with me in exchange for my killing Gellert.”

“Can you blame me?” Credence retorted.

Graves was about to answer, when he let himself look at Credence, really look at him for the first time since he’d woken up in this cellar room. He let himself notice the hard set of Credence’s full lips and the defiant look in his eyes. “No, but there’s something I don’t understand,” he said. “How can you still think of fighting against him after everything he did to you?”

“What would you have me do?” Credence said. “Give up?” He gestured to the gag, the blindfold and the duct tape on the floor. “Let him do stuff like this to me without thinking of revenge? I made a mistake when I trusted him and he’s got a lot of power over me, but I won’t let him break me,” Credence insisted and Graves could see that his cheeks were flushed. “As long as my sisters are alive I’ve got a reason to fight. I’m not _weak_.”

“I didn’t think you were weak,” Graves replied. “Your attitude reminds me a lot of the 00 section, actually. Our motto is ‘never aback, never surrender’.”

“Never aback, never surrender,” Credence repeated in a low voice. “I like that.”

“Us 00s, we’re stubborn bastards,” Graves added. “Never give up without a fight, and if you have to go down, take as many of the other side with them as you can.”

Credence seemed to think about Graves’ words for a few seconds, absentmindedly playing with the coat buttons. “I have information on Gellert’s criminal network,” he said. “So, if you kill Gellert, take me away from this place and ensure my sisters’ safety, I can help MI6 take out the rest of the organization.”

“And I’ll do my best to help _you_ . Don’t worry, Credence, I’ll get us out of here,” Graves said and squeezed Credence’s hand. He hoped the gesture was reassuring. The truth was he’d gotten out of more desperate situations before, but he’d usually only had to ensure his own safety. If he’d _had_ partners on missions, it had always been another agent, someone Graves could trust to fight on the same level as he did. Credence, for all his defiance and strength, was not a fighter, but Graves vowed that he wouldn’t let him down.

He couldn’t.

If anyone deserved a fresh start in life and a chance to be happy, it was Credence.

Before Graves could be frightened by his own thoughts, Credence asked, “Do we have a deal?”

“We have,” Graves replied. He was just about to ask Credence further questions about Grindelwald, when the door to their little impromptu cell was being opened.

Credence tensed. Graves himself stood up and stepped in front of Credence, ready to shield him.

Six men stood behind the door. “Hands up or we’ll shoot!” one of them said and brandished his gun to reinforce his threat.

Graves and Credence raised their hands over their heads, although Graves rolled his eyes.

“Mr. Grindelwald will see you now,” one of the henchmen told him and pressed his gun into Graves’ back. “You’ll come with us.”

“I can hardly wait to meet him,” Graves drawled, to show that he was not intimidated by their antics. He did it as much for Credence’s benefit as for his own. Besides, if the men were tasked with bringing Graves to their boss alive, they couldn’t kill him.

As they were being marched out of the cell, Graves tried to make eye-contact with Credence, to let him know that he had the situation under control, that there was nothing to fear.

“By the way, Mr. Grindelwald said I should inform you that Bartsch and Garavito didn’t make it. He thinks it’s your fault,” one of the henchmen told Credence. “He plans to send Travers and Rosier to London with the next available flight to say hello to your sisters. He said you would know what that means.”

Credence’s legs gave out under him. “No,” he sobbed. “No, no, no…”

Graves stopped and tried to help Credence, but the henchmen didn’t let him. While he was being marched towards the upper floors of the mansion, Graves could still hear Credence’s cries echo in his ears. He sounded like a tortured animal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   * Like Bernardo and Garavito, Bartsch is a reference to a real-life criminal.
>   * Grindelwald's "British aunt" is, of course, a reference to Bathilda Bagshot.
>   * My inspiration for the mansion of Nurmengard was the so-called [“Villa Hügel”](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Villa_H%C3%BCgel).
>   * The statue of Persephone and Hades was inspired by [“The Rape of Proserpina”](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Rape_of_Proserpina) by Gian Lorenzo Bernini. 
> 



	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is still on hiatus, but I had one more chapter that was more or less finished, so I thought I'd upload it. Thank you to both Binary_Sunset and gothyringwald for beta-reading this chapter!
> 
> **Chapter warning: referenced character deaths/referenced murder**
> 
>  

As Grindelwald’s henchmen led Graves through the corridors of the mansion, he put on an arrogant, bored attitude on purpose, as though the situation didn’t affect him at all. He mostly did it because he wanted to see if it would fuck with their minds.

He surreptitiously looked to the left and to the right. The henchmen looked unnerved. Good.

However, Graves was not nearly as unaffected by the situation as he pretended to be. Credence’s cries still echoed in his ears and whenever Graves thought about Credence, his fingers started to itch with the need to avenge the boy’s sisters. So far, he hadn’t even met Gellert Grindelwald, but he was already prepared to murder the man.

Graves willed himself to calm down. The exact same rage had prompted him to make a mistake while he’d gone after Leta Lestrange. He’d almost paid for it with his life, then. Something told him he would not survive another blunder like that.

Instead of focusing on his anger, he paid attention to his surroundings and tried to commit the floor plan to memory. One thing was for sure - Nurmengard had to be an enormous building.

On their way from the cellar to the upper floors, cold concrete walls had been replaced by wooden panels. They gave the corridors an ominous appearance. Expensive-looking paintings hung on the walls in regular intervals and made Graves feel like he was in a museum. While he didn’t know a lot about art, he had no doubt that the paintings were real. Whether Grindelwald had acquired them legally or not was another question.

The henchmen led him up one last flight of winding stairs and marched him into a large hall. In the middle of the hall, there was a single chair. Graves sighed and rolled his eyes. Predictable.

“Take a seat,” one of the henchmen said and Graves felt the barrel of his gun poking him in the back.

Graves decided it was prudent not to risk anything and sat down. He even let himself be tied to the chair.

He thought back to Credence and worried what was happening to the young man right now. Hopefully nothing that involved blindfolds, gags and duct tape.

Graves sat up straight when he heard footsteps drawing nearer from behind him. He tried to turn his head to see whoever it was, but one of the henchmen threatened him with the gun again.

“Eyes to the front!”

“Yes, sir,” Graves said in a scathing voice. The step pattern was off, like the person was limping and using a cane. It had to be Grindelwald, then.

Slowly, the steps drew closer and the man entered Graves’ field of vision. He looked much like Credence had described him - tall, blond with just a few grey hairs, in his early forties. He grudgingly had to admit that Gellert Grindelwald was not bad-looking. Graves could understand why Credence might have felt a little infatuated when he’d first got to know him. Grindelwald possessed a glib and superficial charm. Having met his fair share of dazzlers and charlatans over the years, Graves could discern that it was fake. Credence, who’d been half Graves’ age at the time of his fateful first encounter with the blond man, had not been so lucky. He’d only started to see through Grindelwald when it had already been too late.

“Welcome to Nurmengard, Mr. Graves,” Grindelwald said and smiled. His smile was little less than a predator baring its teeth. “Are you enjoying your stay?”

Graves was unimpressed, he just looked at Grindelwald with a blank expression.

“So, you’re not in the mood for small-talk, are you? I admit, I was a bit disappointed to learn that you chose not to take advantage of my gift for you,” Grindelwald said, pretending to be offended. “Credence is well-trained.”

“Well, contrary to you, I don’t get off on fear,” Graves replied.

“Your loss,” Grindelwald said. “Although I’ve been informed that you used the time for emotional bonding. If I’m not mistaken, he was wearing your coat…?”

“What’s it to you?”

“Oh, nothing,” Grindelwald brushed him off. “Anyway, I’m quite happy that you chose to come to Berlin, 007. I’m sure Q branch is going to be simply delighted to find out that I have one of their agents at my mercy...again.”

Graves sneered at him, but didn’t reply.

“Tell me, 007, did MI6 have any idea that my organization even exists before Leta Lestrange killed the previous 007?” he asked and flashed his unnerving smile again.

“You think you’re special and, judging from the vile symbol you tattooed on Credence’s neck, you don’t learn anything from history,” Graves retorted.

Grindelwald let out a long suffering sigh. “No, those old geezers were wrong. For me, the symbol designates special qualities...signs of superiority, if you will…but it has nothing to do with any of those antiquated ideas about race. No, these qualities occur in every people, it’s just a question of looking for them and fostering them, which is what I am doing…”

“Which qualities?”

“The ability to charm, to manipulate, to quickly analyze a person and know which buttons you need to push until they’re ready to eat from the palm of your hand,” Grindelwald listed. “Most importantly, however, not feeling guilty for any of your actions, however ‘immoral’ society might think they are.”

“Not feeling guilty,” Graves repeated, incredulously.

Grindelwald shrugged. “You, as a 00, should know that,” he said. “Do you have trouble sleeping at night because of what you do for a living? Do your victims’ faces flash before your eyes? Do their last words echo in your ears? No, I don’t think so. Tell me, Percival, how many people did you kill on the job? Do you know the number? Or have you lost count already?”

Graves clenched his jaw. “Don’t act as though we’re the same, Grindelwald. I play by the rules. I defend the law, while you intend to break it.”

Grindelwald laughed. Graves found the sound grating. “Of course, that’s what they tell you during training, isn’t it? They tell you you’re doing an important job, that you’re protecting innocents, that you’re heroes, even,” he said and paused to contemplate Graves’ face. “Don’t you realize you’re being lied to? ‘Orphans make the best recruits’, that’s what they say on the quiet. Did you ever wonder  _ why _ orphans make the best recruits? I believe it’s because there’s a fundamental lack of love in your lives and you have to fill it somehow. That’s when MI6 comes in and tells you what you could do to be useful. They tell you that you ought to risk your lives so you could become heroes. And who doesn’t love a hero?”

Grindelwald paused and let out a theatrical sigh. He leaned on his cane and let his eyes wander over Graves’ face. “Don’t you see that they’re using you? A man with your talents is wasted at MI6.”

“And what would you have me do instead of working for MI6?” Graves snorted, before it dawned on him. “Grindelwald, are you trying to recruit me? You are, aren’t you?”

“My organization is always looking for new members,” Grindelwald said. “You could pick your own missions, just do whatever you like. Instead of working for people who use you and lie to you, you would be free. What would you say?”

“I would be free?” Graves asked, raising his eyebrows. “Hardly. Everyone would know that I became a traitor.”

“Are you really a traitor if you choose to abandon false ideals and follow your own wishes and desires?” Grindelwald asked. “Still, if you don’t want to break ties with MI6 so openly, you could always become a double-agent. Not that I necessarily need information about MI6 missions, since it took you so long to find me anyway, but one can never be too careful. What do you say?”

Graves pretended to think about the offer, locked eyes with Grindelwald and said, “To say it with Leta Lestrange’s last words: ‘Fuck you.’”

Grindelwald struck him hard across the face.

Graves grinned at him, relishing the burn on his left cheek. “Did you really think I was going to agree?”

“What’s the phrase Credence likes to use?” Grindelwald replied. “It was worth a shot.”

“Get to the point,” Graves said. “What do you want? If you wanted to kill me, you’d have already done so.”

“Killjoy,” Grindelwald replied in a mocking voice and wagged his finger at Graves. “Don’t think I didn’t notice what you were trying to accomplish, Percival. Manipulating the conversation to get information? I don’t think so.”

He gave one of his henchmen a sign and the man left the room for a moment, only to return with a chair, which he placed opposite of Graves.

“Leg getting tired?” Graves asked as Grindelwald sat down, but he didn’t get an answer.

“Now, Percival,” Grindelwald began. “You’ve taken lives and I’ve taken lives. The circumstances might have been different at times, but those are the basic facts. Tell me, who was your first?”

Graves blinked as memories he’d long thought forgotten threatened to resurface. He didn’t think of the first person he’d ever killed, but the first target he killed in hand-to-hand combat. A gunshot, that was impersonal. That was comparatively easy. But the first time Graves had choked a target to death, he’d felt empty for weeks afterwards. It had gotten so bad that he’d willingly sought out MI6’s psych department for treatment and it had taken him a long time to recover.

Remembering his fight against Leta Lestrange, Graves found it astonishing that, over the years, he must have become so desensitized as to being able to choke her without a second thought.

Grindelwald laughed. “Not feeling so heroic now, are you? Let me tell you, Percival, I’ll always remember my first murder. How old were you when you first killed? I was eighteen.”

Graves didn’t answer. He wanted nothing more than to tune out Grindelwald’s words, but he knew he had to listen, in case the man divulged any kind of important detail.

“Not for lack of trying, of course, and I would have succeeded earlier, if they hadn’t caught me at school. It helps to have good connections, you know, they only expelled me and didn’t report me to the police, but I digress,” Grindelwald continued, while trying to catch Graves’ eye. “My first murder was glorious. I almost got the whole family. I killed the mother and the daughter, while I made the brother watch. He won’t forget those scenes his whole life. In hindsight, of course, I should have taken my time to make the most of the experience, but I was still so young…”

“You’re sick,” Graves said.

“Maybe so,” Grindelwald admitted nonchalantly. “I wouldn’t have it any other way, though. I learned something from my first murder, and that is, if you want to absolutely destroy a person, all you need to do is threaten the people they love. You’ve seen how well that works with Credence. He’s been the sweetest, most docile pet you could ask for, after I taught him a few lessons. You know, I’m almost a little sad that I gave the order to kill his sisters, but then again, he was really getting too old for my taste.”

Credence was barely twenty-three. Graves grimaced. “What do you want from me?” he asked, in order to stop Grindelwald from talking more about his twisted relationship with Credence.

“That’s easy,” Grindelwald said. “I’m willing to exchange one 00 for another 00, specifically I want Albus Dumbledore. He’s 009, if I’m correct.”

“What do you want with…?” Graves began, but broke off. Memories from Theseus’ funeral mixed with Grindelwald telling him about his first murder, and the image of Albus, standing in front of a headstone, looking like a broken man. “It was you,” he whispered. “You killed his mother and his sister.”

Grindelwald confirmed it with a nod. “I’m really quite proud of that,” he said. “I didn’t have anything against his family, you know, I mostly wanted to take revenge on Albus...and now I would really like to find out what became of him, twenty-five years later. Don’t get me wrong, when it comes to emotional blackmailing, Credence is my masterpiece, but Albus was my first, and you never forget your first, do you?”

Graves stared at Grindelwald with a horrified expression. “You’re completely mad, aren’t you?”

Grindelwald acted as though he hadn’t even heard Graves’ remark. “We already established that you don’t want to change sides and don’t want to become my spy, but it would be foolish to let the opportunity of having a 00 right here go to waste,” he said. “Now, you’re going to tell me everything you know about MI6 and then we’re going to record a nice little video message, in which you tell your superiors that they can get you back in exchange for 009.”

“I won’t talk and they would never agree to a deal like that,” Graves replied.

“Of course they would agree,” Grindelwald said and rolled his eyes. “Albus is a little older than I am. For 00s, that’s almost retirement age. You, on the other hand, you’re in your prime, not even thirty-five yet. It would be a waste of resources. If they lose you, then they’ll have to train two agents to take your place and Albus’ place, when he eventually retires. If they just lose Albus, they only have to train one agent. You understand that, don’t you? Now, let’s see, you said you didn’t want to talk?” Grindelwald snapped his fingers. One of the henchmen handed him a gun. He dangled it in front of Graves’ face. “Do you recognize it, Percival?”

“Yes. Walther PPK, MI6 standard issue,” Graves said emotionlessly.

“A bit of an outdated model, don’t you think?” Grindelwald commented. “You should be furious, Percival, they’re sending you on missions with antiquated equipment. Then again, I suppose it still does the job, so to speak. It still kills.” Grindelwald pointed the gun at Graves’ face, right between his eyes. “Have you changed your mind about telling me what you know?”

Graves stared straight ahead and took a couple of deep breaths. “Go ahead and pull the trigger,” he said calmly. “I won’t tell you anything.”

Grindelwald sighed. “Still trying to play the hero, aren’t you? You’d rather die than pass on information. You’d rather die than let innocent bystanders come to harm.”

“Exactly,” Graves said.

“Good,” Grindelwald replied. He grinned and said something in German to one of his henchmen. The man left Graves’ side and left the room.

“What are you…?” Graves began, but in that moment, the door opened again and Graves could see that the henchman was leading Credence into the room. The young man was no longer wearing Graves’ coat, but a pair of jeans and a T-shirt instead. As he got closer, Graves could see that Credence’s lip was split. Fresh tear tracks covered his cheeks.

Grindelwald gave Credence a command in German. The latter fell to his knees next to Grindelwald, while he cautiously observed Graves. All his fight seemed to have left him, after the revelation that his sisters were in immediate danger. Graves could only hope…

“Come on, Percival, aren’t you happy to see him again?” Grindelwald asked. “From what my men told me, you used your time together for bonding.”

“What’s it to you?” Graves asked, putting on a bored attitude, while trying to control the tremor in his voice.

“Let’s call this a little experiment,” Grindelwald said.

Graves’ felt his left eye twitch. He did  _ not _ like the sound of that.

“In my experience, if you want to destroy someone completely, you don’t have to threaten to kill them,” Grindelwald said, contemplating the gun. “Once you know even a little bit about psychology, you can get much more creative than that. Percival, when I asked you if you’d pass on information, you said you’d rather die. However, you also said you wouldn’t let innocent bystanders come to harm,” he paused and gave Graves a sadistic grin.

Graves stared back at Grindelwald with a defiant expression.

Credence, still kneeling at Grindelwald’s feet, let out a small whimper.

Grindelwald pointed the gun at Credence’s head. “What’s it going to be, Percival?” he asked. “Are you going to talk or not?”

Graves looked at his own gun in Grindelwald’s hand and into Credence’s eyes, wide open with fear and disbelief. Seeing Credence like that became too much after a few seconds and he averted his eyes. “I won’t talk,” he said firmly.

Grindelwald appeared flabbergasted for a moment, before he regained his composure. “Did you hear what he said, Credence?” he asked. “Not a single word of protest.”

Credence nodded, tears streaming down his face.

Grindelwald pointed the gun at Credence’s face once more. “I know it’s hypocritical, coming from me,  _ Liebling _ , but you just have the worst luck when it comes to choosing your saviors,” Grindelwald said. “I really thought he was going to talk,” he added and with that, he pulled the trigger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I said, this fic is still on hiatus, since I'm taking a little break from writing for gradence. However, I would be very interested in your opinions about the fic so far, if you would like to share it!


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Warnings: Referenced rape, referenced grievous bodily harm, minor character death**
> 
> As always, thanks to my wonderful beta-reader gothyringwald!

Grindelwald pulled the trigger.

Credence squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for the bullet that would end his life.

The gun didn’t fire.

“What…?” Grindelwald said and pulled the trigger again. “It’s loaded, why doesn’t it…?”

Credence opened his eyes again. A thin sheen of sweat coated his forehead. Wide-eyed, he looked around himself, not quite believing that he was still alive.

“The newest thing from Q branch,” Graves drawled. “A signature weapon. It’s keyed to my handprint.”

Grindelwald squared his shoulders and scowled at the gun. “As if I would let that little trick stop me,” he spat, giving his henchmen a sign. One of them produced a revolver and bullets, both of which he handed to Grindelwald.

Graves’ blood ran cold. He hoped with all his might that Grindelwald would choose to threaten him, but he didn’t think it was likely. Credence seemed to have gone into shock if his rapid, shallow breathing was any indication.

Grindelwald loaded the revolver with one bullet. “I assume you are familiar with Russian Roulette,” he said.

Graves tried to keep calm, but he could feel his pulse speeding up. His palms started to sweat.

He couldn’t betray MI6, could he? He was a 00, he couldn’t become a traitor. _Numquam retro, numquam cede._ Never surrender. He mustn’t give in.

If only Grindelwald would threaten to shoot _him_ , if only he hadn’t brought Credence into this whole mess...

“Credence certainly knows the rules,” Grindelwald chuckled. “You know, Percival, I made him watch me play that lovely game with quite a few unlucky participants. He was always so grateful that he didn’t find himself on the wrong side of the gun. Well, first time for everything, _Liebling_.”

Graves mutely shook his head. Six was his life, his family. What had M told him at the beginning of this mission? Even if people messed up in life, they deserved a second chance. She’d given Graves a second chance by making him a 00, and this was a moment in which he could prove his unwavering loyalty to MI6.

Grindelwald spun the chamber. He’d never been scared of it before, but now the sound sent shivers through Graves’ body.

Graves caught Credence’s eye. He’d become an agent to protect innocent people and after what Credence had told him while they were locked up in the cellar, it was clear Credence had started to trust him, when life had already failed him so often. He’d been surprised by the defiance Credence had shown while they’d been imprisoned together. Talking to him was surprisingly easy (flirting had been surprisingly easy, too, if Graves was being honest). Graves wanted to see what kind of person Credence would become if he were free from Grindelwald’s influence. Most of all, he wanted to see Credence happy, and in order to accomplish that, Credence had to survive.

Grindelwald aimed the revolver straight at Credence’s forehead and released the safety catch.

Graves swallowed, once, before he rasped, “I’ll talk. I’ll talk, I promise, just stop this. Hurt me all you want, but don’t hurt Credence.”

Credence stared at Graves, incredulous.

Grindelwald grinned victoriously. “I knew you’d see reason, Percival,” he said and put the revolver away. “It seems I was right, after all, Credence, he _does_ care about you. It’s funny - see, Percival, if you didn’t care about what happened to Credence, you wouldn’t be on the verge of becoming a traitor. If Credence didn’t love his sisters, he wouldn’t have to follow my orders,” he said and turned to look at Credence. “I can’t imagine caring about someone else to such an extent. It’s unnatural and weak to put someone else’s life above your own.”

“It’s called empathy,” Graves said drily. “You should try it sometime.”

Grindelwald huffed and impatiently tapped his wristwatch. “We haven’t got all day, Percival,” he said. “Now, _spill_.”

To a certain extent, Graves cooperated and hated every second of it. When it came to the more sensitive topics, like the specifics of the 00 section, he pretended to be too much of a newbie to know everything. He let them believe that his watch was just an ordinary wristwatch and not a hand grenade in disguise. He also didn’t mention the fact that Q knew exactly where he was and could track his vital signs - going into this mission, he’d never thought he’d be grateful that she had injected him with miniature tracking devices.

To his surprise and disgust, Grindelwald spent a lot of time interrogating him on Albus, Queenie, and M. It sounded like he was planning a terrorist attack on MI6 and Graves felt sick just thinking about it.

In the end, Grindelwald had one of his henchmen record a video of Graves stating Grindelwald’s terms for an exchange of hostages. Behind the camera, Grindelwald kept the gun aimed at Credence. Graves delivered the message with a stony expression.

“I think you deserve a little reward, Percival,” Grindelwald said after the video was finished, handing the revolver off to a henchman. He looked from Graves to Credence and back again. “Take the lovebirds away. Lock them up in Credence’s bedroom until I get a response from MI6. I want an armed guard at the door at all times.”

Graves and Credence were once again marched through the mansion. Ever since he’d given in to Grindelwald’s terms, Credence hadn’t looked at him once.

Credence’s bedroom turned out to be a large room with ensuite bathroom, located on the second floor of the mansion. Two enormous floor-to-ceiling windows let sunlight stream into the room.

“He doesn’t make you share a room with him?” Graves asked.

Credence shook his head. “He’s paranoid and doesn’t sleep in other people’s company,” he explained. “Usually he kicks me out of bed after he’s had enough of me for the night. I prefer that, actually. At least I get a little bit of privacy and time for myself that way.”

“Understandable,” Graves mumbled and walked around the room, taking in some details. A sleek laptop sat on the desk, besides a handful of what looked like economics and finance textbooks. The bookshelves were full of classics.

Graves picked up a book. “‘The Prince’,” he read out loud. “Macchiavelli? I don’t think this makes for good bedtime reading.”

Credence went over to Graves, took the book out of his hand and stared dejectedly at it. “Gellert decides what I’m allowed to read,” he said quietly and placed the book back on the shelf. He glanced at Graves before he turned away. “Why didn’t you let him shoot me?” he asked.

“I...what?”

“Why didn’t you let him shoot me?” Credence repeated. His voice shook and he wrapped his arms around himself.

“Credence, we made a deal, don’t you remember?” Graves said. “I kill Gellert and take you far away from this place in exchange for information?”

“Yes, but…,” Credence faltered, searching for the right words. “When he loaded the revolver, I thought I was going to die. I never thought you’d…,” he broke off again and made some vague gestures.

“You never thought I was going to uphold my part of the deal?” Graves asked, surprisingly hurt. “Credence, I promised I would do everything I could to help you.”

Credence opened and closed his mouth, like a fish on dry land. After a moment, he regained his composure. “It wouldn’t be the first time someone broke their promises to me,” he said with a thick voice. “I-I just had to try, didn’t I? And I thought, if I don’t make it, then at least you’d know who my sisters are, so you could keep them safe, but now that’s no longer necessary, is it?” Tears started streaming down Credence’s face. “I f-failed them. If I had just...if I had…and now it’s my fault that they’re going to die and...I killed them…”

Graves stood by helplessly. He couldn’t find any words to say in the situation which would alleviate Credence’s pain. When he couldn’t take seeing Credence suffer this way anymore, he walked up to him and enveloped him in a hug.

Credence sagged against him and cried his heart out. Graves didn’t know how long he just stood in the middle of the room, holding Credence in his arms and petting his hair. It reminded him of his own reaction when his Uncle Arthur had told him that his parents had died. Only Graves had had no one to hold him, at the time.

“I’m so sorry,” Graves whispered, once Credence had calmed down a little bit. Credence was no longer hysterically sobbing, it had morphed into a quiet whimpering. Strangely, that was almost a more heartbreaking sound than the loud cries.

“I failed them,” Credence said in a thick voice. “If I hadn’t believed any of Gellert’s promises in the first place, they’d still be alive…”

Graves gently shushed him. “Grindelwald manipulated you into trusting him and used your sisters as a means to control you. You didn’t know what you were getting into when you asked him to help you. Grindelwald is the one to blame, not you.”

“I should have known,” Credence protested and took a few ragged breaths before he disentangled himself from Graves’ hug. “It’s not the first time I messed up and one of the girls paid the price,” he whispered. “When Gellert tried to sleep with me for the first time, I panicked, fled the bedroom and locked myself up in the bathroom. He was furious.”

“What did he do?” Graves asked reluctantly.

“He said that I’d made a mistake when I ran away, and he’d hurt them anyway,” Credence said. His eyes were suspiciously glassy. “But I could minimize the damage a little. If I unlocked the door and let him fuck me, he would only hurt one of them. If I insisted on being ‘stubborn’, as he called it, both of them would get hurt. Then he started counting down from ten...The next day, he told me that he’d gotten a call from Mrs. Dearborn. Chastity was in the hospital. The doctors tried everything they could, but they couldn’t...she has to wear a prosthetic eye,” Credence finished dully.

Graves swallowed. “I’m sorry. I can’t even imagine…”

Credence turned away, walked to his desk and picked up a framed photograph. He stared at it for a long moment, before he put it back down. Graves stepped closer to Credence and glanced at the photograph - it showed two smiling girls, which he recognized as Madeleine and Cecily Dearborn, formerly known as Modesty and Chastity Barebone. Madeleine was about ten years old, had long blond hair and her wide grin showed that she wore braces with multi-colored brackets. Cecily was older, in her late teens, with strawberry blond hair and large eyes. Try as he might, Graves couldn’t figure out which of them was supposed to be the prosthetic eye.

The sickening thought of what might be happening to those girls at the moment crossed his mind and he averted his eyes from the photograph. He also forced down his hate for Gellert Grindelwald - hate wasn’t productive, it only made you prone to making mistakes. He’d learned that when he’d fought Leta Lestrange. No, he needed control of his emotions.

“I thought Gellert would be able to help us, but he just destroyed everything,” Credence said. “Promise me you’ll kill him.”

“I promise,” Graves said.

“Promise me it’s gonna hurt?”

“I promise,” he repeated.

“Good,” Credence said with a grim expression. “I’ll hold you to that.”

“Okay,” Graves said. In order to get out of the room alive and capture Gellert, he needed as much information as possible. He was reasonably sure he could fight his own way out, but he also had to ensure Credence’s safety.

Together, they started to develop a plan.

Graves did his best to absorb all the information Credence shared with him. After Credence finished, Graves grinned to himself - it didn’t seem so hard to escape the mansion now.

“Are you ready?” Graves asked.

Credence’s eyes started sparkled dangerously. “I have to be,” he said.

“Good luck,” Graves said and positioned himself according to their plan. “I’ll be waiting.”

Credence nodded, stood up and approached the bedroom door. He knocked on it, opened it just an inch and started speaking with the guard in German. While Graves wasn’t close enough to be able to understand what Credence was saying, he knew that Credence was asking the guard to come inside the room, claiming he was scared of being alone with Graves.

“Gellert’s personal guardsmen are fond of me,” Credence had admitted. “It helps to be on good terms with the personnel. There’s a high chance I can make the guard come inside by claiming to be scared of you and he’s going to do it. You can knock him out and take his weapons, then.”

Graves could already feel the adrenaline start to rush through his veins. His heart rate sped up and his breathing got a little quicker.

Credence’s voice took on a more obviously pleading tone as he spoke with the man outside their room. The boy was a good actor, Graves thought. He had to be, of course, to survive so long in a situation like his.

Graves flexed his muscles in preparation. Credence gave him the agreed-upon sign and, just a second later, he stepped aside and let the guard into the room.

Graves pounced on the guard. The unlucky guy didn’t know what hit him. After some quick, practiced movements, the guard was on the ground, no longer breathing. He searched his body for any potentially useful weapons.

He found a pistol, some reserve ammunition, and a knife. He stored them away for use in the future.

Credence’s eyes were fixed on the dead man on the floor. He looked a little green in the face.

“I’m sorry you had to see that,” Graves said and cautiously approached Credence. “I should have warned you, it’s ugly, I know…”

Credence shook his head, still looking at the dead guard. “I’ve seen you fight before, in the hotel room, don’t you remember? And Gellert made me watch worse things, but...does it ever get easier?”

Graves thought for a moment. “It helps when you think of your opponent as only that. An opponent. A target,” he said. “It also helps being convinced you’re one of the good guys.”

Credence finally managed to draw his eyes away from the dead body. “Do you have everything you need?”

Graves nodded. “Weapons, the moment of surprise and you by my side,” he said in an attempt to lighten the mood a little bit. “Now all we need is a lot of luck and we’re good to go.”

Credence smiled shyly before he looked back at the dead body and shivered. “Let’s get out of here already.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   * Chastity losing an eye is a nod to We Need To Talk About Kevin. Her new name, Cecily, is a reference to that - [it means "blind"](https://nameberry.com/babyname/Cecily).
>   * I found a really interesting vintage-y close combat manual online and it's great when it comes to fight scenes, because I have absolutely no experience with fighting whatsoever. However, it also made me a bit uncomfortable, so I chose not to go into any detail when Graves killed the guard. If you are interested, though, the move is ["Unarmed Removal from the Rear"](http://www.survivorlibrary.com/library/us-marines-close-quarters-combat-manual-fmfm-07.pdf), described on pages 120-122.
> 

> 
> And I think that's already it - I thought I would have more notes for this chapter, but apparently not, oops.
> 
> If you would like to share your opinion on this chapter, I would be delighted!


	12. Chapter 12

**Important:** This is not actually a chapter - for a number of reasons, I've decided not to finish writing this fic. However, as it is, there are a lot of unanswered questions and I'd feel bad if I didn't provide answers for them. So, I've cleaned up my outline and posted it below, in case anyone wanted to know what would have happened in the last couple of chapters:

 

**Main Plot:**

  * Graves and Credence kill Grindelwald together and the exploding watch Queenie gave Graves in Chapter 6 plays a key role in that. Grindelwald dies screaming that Graves and Credence are going to regret killing him, because he has a mole at MI6 in a high-level position who will avenge him.
  * Graves and Credence get on a plane to London. They discuss who the mole might be and decide that it’s most likely Queenie or Abernathy, since they are close to M and know almost all there is to know about MI6.
  * At the airport in London, Tina (006) and Madame Ya Zhou (002) are already waiting for Graves and Credence - they knew where Graves was because of the trackers in his blood, which were introduced in Chapter 3.
  * Credence’s sisters are already rescued and the hitmen Grindelwald sent to kill them are dead, too. When Credence told Graves his backstory, as well as when he received the news that his sisters were supposed to die, he was wearing Graves’ coat, which had microphones hidden in the coat buttons (introduced in Chapter 6). So, Queenie could hear everything that was being said and sent agents to safe the girls.
  * Graves and Credence are being taken to Q branch. It’s revealed that Dumbledore had a mental breakdown in the meantime, because of Grindelwald and his past.
  * The family who adopted Modesty and Chastity are friends with M and don’t want to be bothered by MI6 operations (Chapter 4) - since Queenie and her agents technically went against M’s direct orders, M is angry and storms into Q branch, ready to scold her agents. However, when Credence spots her, he pales and asks her what she is doing here.
  * M is revealed to be Bathilda Bagshot - Grindelwald’s aunt. (Hints I included in the fic: She has blue eyes, like Grindelwald. She talks about the importance of family on multiple occasions. She mentioned that people deserve a second chance while she was glancing at Albus, however, at the time, she was actually talking about Gellert. I also mentioned her in the context of history with Professor Binns in Chapter 5, when he told everyone that her nickname was “Betsy”. In addition to that, Credence mentioned that Grindelwald has an aunt who lives in London.)
  * She was neighbors with the Dumbledores; Albus and Gellert met because of her. The backstory then is almost like canon - after the murder of his mother and sister, Albus suspected that Gellert was the murderer, tracked him down and shot him in the knee (which is why Grindelwald had to use a walking cane and talked about how his knee was bothering him on multiple occasions).
  * At the time of the murder, M was an MI6 agent and helped Gellert escape. However, she also felt guilty about what her nephew did to Albus’ family and offered Albus a second chance at MI6. She kept Albus in the dark about Gellert’s fate and let him believe that Gellert was dead.
  * She made a deal with Gellert - MI6 would not cause trouble for Gellert’s organization. However, with the years, Gellert got too careless and it was Leta’s run-in with Theseus that alerted MI6 to the presence of his organization.
  * M’s arc ends with her committing suicide, because every MI6 agent has a cyanide capsule in one of their molars.



 

**Epilogue:**

  * Seraphina becomes the new M.
  * Soo-hyun (Maledictus girl) replaces Seraphina as 002; Albus retires, too, and is replaced by Kingsley Shacklebolt.
  * Chastity gets a girlfriend.
  * I considered setting Abernathy up with either R or Soo-hyun.
  * For Queenie’s birthday, Graves buys all of Q branch and the entire 00-section coffee mugs with “For Queenie and Country” printed on them.
  * Queenie teases Graves about the fact that he likes Credence - since she can keep track of his vital signs via SmartBlood, she tells him that his heart always beats faster when he sees Credence.
  * Credence gets therapy and he’s slowly recovering. He gets laser removal for the tattoo on his neck Grindelwald forced on him, it’s already faded considerably.
  * Graves and Credence are dancing around each other for a while, but they figure it out and get together.



**Author's Note:**

> Find me [@almost-annette](https://almost-annette.tumblr.com/)!
> 
> I also made a [moodboard](https://almost-annette.tumblr.com/post/168967492781/grindelwald-as-bond-villain) as to how I imagine Gellert Grindelwald to look like in this AU. (If you are German or know a little bit about German politics - yes, my fancast for Grindelwald is Christian Lindner. He just looks like a Bond villain to me, I can't help it.)


End file.
